


Pride and Spirit

by wig_powder



Series: Pride and Spirit [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wig_powder/pseuds/wig_powder
Summary: With the Blight approaching, Amell's willing to take all the help she can get. So when an old "friend" makes his way into the Circle Tower while she's in the process of cleansing it, she makes arrangements for him to accompany her. It's not the smartest idea and she knows it, but she's hoping to make the best of it. After all, things may be strange in the Fade, but the real world isn't that clear-cut, either.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This may seem like a departure from my other work, and in many ways it is (there's still illness and sneezing, but it winds up being so extraneous to the plot that I don't think it's even worth tagging). I honestly didn't expect it to become as elaborate as it wound up being. I'm proud of it, though, and hope others find it as enjoyable to read as it was to write.

Grey Warden Amell kept her arm around First Enchanter Irving, helping him down towards the bottom of the Circle tower. The rest of her party followed behind them, Wynne casting healing spells to try to help Irving regain some of his strength. “You appear to have learned much from your time outside the Circle,” Irving said, “I’ve often said to Greagoir that experience is just as important a teacher as books and practice. Of course, he doesn’t see it that way.”

“Perhaps he does,” Amell responded dryly, “And that’s why he limits the amount of mages who can go out to assist during wartime. He doesn’t want us getting too powerful.”

Irving chuckled faintly. “There could be truth to that. Though after you were able to cleanse the tower of all demons, perhaps he’ll see the merit in allowing for supervised excursions.”

Before Amell could respond, they reached the floor for the senior mages, and a nervous looking young man rushed up to them. “First Enchanter! Enchanter Wynne! Thank the Maker!”

“What is it, Doyle?” Irving asked, instantly on alert.

“We need your help! Enchanter Leorah tried to shelter some of us in the storage caves, but she eventually fell while protecting us and the demons started to come through. We all banded together to resist them, but Apprentice Prescott was killed during their final assault. One of the demons seized the opportunity and entered his body before we could stop it, but we worked together to throw up a barrier to keep it contained. But our energy is failing us, and we don’t have the strength to kill it. Can you help us?”

“Unfortunately, my strength is at a low ebb as well,” Irving said, “But I will see what I can do. And if I am unable to do it, Wynne or Warden Amell should be able to dispatch it. Lead the way, Doyle.”

Doyle hurried forward, though he obligingly stopped every few minutes to wait for the party to catch up. Amell tried to quicken her pace in response, wondering how she and her party had missed this when they’d been climbing the tower. Perhaps it had happened shortly after they’d departed. She regretted the stress the apprentices had gone through, and hoped she’d be able to correct any mistake she’d inadvertently made.

Doyle led them down into the caves, where nearly a dozen mages were clustered around a circle of milky white light, similar to the cage that had held the Templar Cullen. Irving gently pushed away from Amell and straightened up, walking a bit shakily towards the group. Amell followed right behind him, both to support him if he stumbled and to get a good look at what they were dealing with.

To her surprise, instead of a twisted abomination, the figure in the barrier looked like a normal man, albeit one who was looking around at the group with amused contempt. She vaguely recognized him from her time in the Circle; while he was older than her by a few years, he had come to the Circle later than she had, having been hidden by his parents for as long as possible before being forced to give him up to the Templars. They hadn’t interacted much, but he’d seemed nice enough, and took his studies seriously. While it was a shame that this had happened to him, at least he hadn’t succumbed to the demon’s temptation. It made it easier to know that there truly was nothing of Prescott left inside that body.

As she reached for her staff, the thing that had once been Prescott took a good look at the new arrivals, and his eyes gleamed as they landed on her. “Well well well,” he said, “No wonder I haven’t seen you for some time. I was wondering where you’d got to.”

Amell froze in her tracks. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t because of her familiarity with Prescott. Unable to stop herself, she blurted out the only thing that came to mind.

“Mouse?”


	2. The Binding of "Prescott"

As Mouse smirked in acknowledgement, Irving’s voice, tinged with both surprise and disapproval, spoke. “You know this demon, Warden Amell?”

Amell wrenched her gaze away from Mouse and forced herself to meet Irving’s eyes. “During my Harrowing…he was the demon I was pitted against. He claimed to be a fallen apprentice, who had learned to take on the shape of a mouse to survive. He…he helped me defeat a rage demon before revealing his true colors.”

“I see,” Irving said, giving her a look that still made her insides shrivel with shame, even though he was no longer her teacher, “Well, despite his aid then, he is a problem now. We cannot allow him to walk free, and therefore he must be slain.”

Amell nodded reluctantly and reached for her staff again. As her fingers closed around the wood, a thought flashed through her mind, and she turned back to Irving. “Wait.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” Irving answered, “We must cleanse the tower of all demons before we can speak to Greagoir. And the apprentices can’t maintain this barrier for much longer.”

Amell swallowed and spoke quickly. “What if we bound him instead?”

“You can’t bind a demon!” Doyle said, having rejoined the group casting the barrier, “It’ll break through the bonds within seconds, unless they’re heavily enchanted. And even then…”

“I didn’t mean with ropes or chains,” Amell said, “I meant with magic.”

She maintained eye contact with Irving, who gave her a startled look. “You speak of the spells they use in Tevinter.”

She nodded. “I read about them while trying to research the Fade. I had been hoping to find ways to protect myself against demon influence. The book didn’t say how it worked or how one cast the spell, but surely the First Enchanter would have some idea.”

“Even if I did,” Irving said, folding his arms and looking at her intently, “That spell is used on spirits, not demons. There is no guarantee it would work. And if it does, what use would you have for a demon?”

“There’s a Blight on our hands,” Amell pointed out, “And we need all the help we can get. Besides, the legends say that the corruption that creates the Blight came from the Fade. And he,” she gestured at Mouse, “Is from the Fade. Perhaps he’ll have some insight into how to stop the Archdemon.”

Irving looked her over critically. “You would have him bound to you, then?”

Amell nodded. “If something should go wrong, my friends and allies will be there to slay him.”

Irving continued to scrutinize her. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Mouse spoke up.

“If it’s either death or enslavement, I believe enslavement would be preferable. And this way, I’ve achieved my purpose of escaping the Fade.”

Irving turned to him. “Then you would submit to this willingly?”

“Well,” Mouse amended with a dark smile, “If she can subdue me first. I need to know I’ve been bested before I’ll surrender.”

Amell looked at him, then back at Irving. “Can you do the binding spell?”

Irving sighed. “Yes.”

“Do you have the strength to do it now?”

“If Wynne would be good enough to support me.”

Wynne’s lips were pursed in disapproval, but she nodded. Amell took her staff off her back and stood right at the edge of the barrier, gripping it tightly with both hands. “Then drop the protection, and back away as far as you can.”

The apprentices, looking nervous, lowered their hands and hurried to the far corner of the cave. As the magic fizzled out, Mouse bared his teeth in a grin and started to raise his hands…

…Only to be smacked in the face by Amell’s staff, which she’d swung at him with all her might. As he toppled to the ground, Amell hit him first with Mind Blast, then with Winter’s Grasp. “Hurry, First Enchanter!” she said, “Bind him!”

With Wynne behind him, casting spells of mana and health rejuvenation, Irving stepped forward and held out his hands, waving them in a complicated pattern. Something that looked like a silver thread appeared, floating over to Amell and Mouse. One end looped around Mouse’s left wrist, while the other went around Amell’s right wrist. While Amell couldn’t actually feel any weight on her wrist, her whole body seemed to tingle for a few seconds. Irving sent out a pulse of magic, and the thread disappeared from view, the tingling subsiding at the same time. “It is done,” Irving said, lowering his hands, “He is now bound to you until such time as you decide to release him. He must follow any direct order you give him, and he will be unable to hurt you directly. As he is a demon, however, I would suggest you keep an eye on him and make sure you word your requests very carefully. I’m sure he’ll find any excuse he can to disobey you.”

Amell nodded and turned her attention to Mouse, who still looked dazed, though there was no way to tell if it was from the Mind Blast or from the initial blow. “Stand up.” she said, her tone gentle but firm. She needed to make sure the spell had worked, after all.

Mouse promptly rose to his feet, though he swayed immediately afterwards and put a hand to his head. “That was…unexpected.” he said, though it was hard to say if he was impressed or bitter.

“That was the point,” Amell answered, “Now then, can you still shapeshift into your mouse form? Or did you lose that ability when you took over Prescott?”

“Of course I can,” Mouse said indignantly, “What would be the point of wanting to leave the Fade if we lost our power? Although…” he jerked his left hand, “I suppose I’ve lost it in a different way, haven’t I?”

Amell ignored his grumbling. “Then I want you to change into a mouse. Greagoir will ask questions if he sees Prescott with us, and we don’t want him to find out about what happened. Grey Warden or not, it’s only going to end badly for all of us.”

Mouse gave a curt nod, and with a brief flash of light, he disappeared, replaced by the large brown mouse she remembered from her Harrowing. She knelt down and grabbed onto him, not wanting him to try to make a run for it. “Greagoir’s probably also going to wonder what I’m doing carrying a mouse, so you’ll have to stay in my pack until we’re out of the tower. Don’t make any noise.”

Mouse sighed as she put him in her pack, sticking him inside one of the cinderfel gauntlets she’d acquired during the cleansing of the tower to try to keep him both comfortable and quiet. “It seems I’m going to have to get used to these indignities,” he said, “What a fall from grace.”

“Quiet,” Amell reminded him, slinging the pack over her shoulder again before looking back at Irving, “After you, First Enchanter.”

Irving gave her another dubious look, then started to make his way out of the caves. The rest of the apprentices hurried after him, with Wynne moving amongst them to give them healing. Amell and the rest of her party brought up the rear, mostly to prevent anything (be they demons or giant spiders) from mounting a surprise attack. “That was quite an unusual move,” Leliana commented after a few minutes, “However did you think of it?”

Amell chuckled. “I think I’ve been hanging around Alistair too much. Don’t tell him, though; I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Leliana laughed lightly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Amell grinned, though her grin faded a little as she wondered how Alistair and the rest of her group would react to the _other _secret that was no doubt mentally cursing in her pack at the moment. Well, she’d made her decision, and now they’d all have to live with it. She only hoped Mouse wouldn’t be more trouble than he was worth.


	3. The Demon Who Went Out in the Cold

As expected, the discovery that Amell had added a demon to their band did not go over well with the rest of the party. Leliana seemed the most accepting of it, believing that the Maker had sent Mouse (it felt disrespectful to call him Prescott) to aid with the Blight. Sten appeared to disapprove, though since he disapproved of almost everything, Amell interpreted that as general indifference. Morrigan did seem faintly impressed by Amell’s boldness in trying to harness a demon, but firmly stated that “he will not be placed anywhere close to _my _tent.” Wynne avoided Mouse as much as possible, and took every opportunity to warn Amell to be on her guard. Amell’s Mabari always growled or barked whenever Mouse got too close, which Mouse mostly tried to ignore. Though he did occasionally shoot back with a growl of his own, something deep and guttural that caused the hairs on Amell’s skin to stand on end. The Mabari would quiet down after that, but continue to stand and glare at Mouse for the rest of the night.

Alistair, meanwhile, was the most vocal opponent of the idea. “What were you _thinking?_” He’d demanded the first night back at camp, “Didn’t it occur to you that he could make our lives _more _difficult instead of less? Maybe he’ll give off an aura that draws the attention of the darkspawn! Or find some way to communicate with the Archdemon! Or ‘accidentally’ set the camp on fire!”

“I believe he can be beneficial to us,” Amell responded, “If you disapprove so strongly, you can remain behind at Redcliffe and help train the garrisons there.”

“No,” Alistair said reluctantly, “I want to see this through, and to make sure Teyrn Loghain gets punished for his actions. Just…make sure he keeps his distance from me.”

For his part, Mouse didn’t much seem to care how anybody felt about his presence. In fact, there were times when Amell could have sworn he took a sort of perverse pleasure in throwing out insults (“After you, o bastard prince.”) or seeds of doubt (“Beware of bandying about your vision from the Maker, Sister; I’m sure the Chantry would frown on so much pride.”) whenever he found an opportunity. While it did nothing to improve the group’s opinion of him, Amell figured verbal attacks were a safer way for him to express his displeasure than physical ones, and thus only silenced him if he appeared to be going too far for one day.

Although outsiders may have thought Amell wasn’t taking the warnings of Irving, Wynne, and the others seriously, the truth was she was doing her best to take precautions. She never left Mouse alone at camp, making him accompany her and remain close to her side whenever they travelled. When they _were_ in camp, she pitched two tents, one for her and one for Mouse, at the edge of the perimeter, and cast various wards and glyphs that would keep him from leaving the tent until she dispelled them. She never gave him anything to carry to prevent him from tampering with it, and always made sure to relay instructions to him clearly and firmly, doing her best to make sure there was no loophole to exploit. Mouse threw plenty of barbs her way for this, but he mostly seemed to accept them, and in this way a fragile truce was maintained.

In order to prevent the group from seeing Mouse as a useless addition (although one who at least didn’t use up resources besides the occasional health poultice), Amell found ways to use him. Besides spending every evening asking him what he knew about the Fade and the corruption that led to Archdemons and Blights, she would sometimes order him to transform into a mouse and scout ahead, reporting truthfully and accurately on what he’d seen. And when she knew they were heading into a fight, she would give him permission to use magic to defend himself and the party, giving express instructions that would keep him from finding a way to injure other members of the group. While he never said anything other than a sarcastic “yes, my liege” to that, she suspected he appreciated the brief moments when he was allowed to use some of his magic. She only hoped that those moments were enough to keep the worst of his resentment at bay.

***

And so the weeks passed, with everybody in the group gradually getting used to each other. Along the way, they managed to acquire two new companions; Zevran, an assassin, and Shale, a golem. Amell had welcomed both of them into the group for the same reason she had “recruited” Mouse (i.e. the more help the better), and she couldn’t help but note with some amusement that each of them had something in common with the demon. In Zevran’s case, he should by all rights have been considered an enemy but had reasons for cooperating. And in Shale’s case, it theoretically should have been compelled to obey via a control rod, though things hadn’t exactly worked out that way. Perhaps that was why Mouse seemed to get along better with the two of them. Shale didn’t seem to care one way or the other if he was a demon, just seeing him as another sack of meat. Zevran, meanwhile, came dangerously close to tempting fate by constantly bringing up Mouse’s being bound to Amell, but he almost always did it with the suggestion that Mouse was being used as a love slave. The suggestions and innuendos were so obviously outlandish that nobody could take it seriously, not even Mouse. Instead, he would just smile and say something along the lines of “There’s nothing like that between us, but I’m still closer to her than you’ll ever be”, which Zevran always took as a delightful retort. Amell suspected that if Mouse ever _did _manage to break free of the bond, Zevran would be the last one Mouse tried to kill.

In the third month after Mouse’s arrival, the party finally reached the Frostback Mountains as they made their way to Haven, the only lead they had on Andraste’s ashes and the cure for Arl Eamon. True to the region’s name (and the fact that it was getting into winter), they began encountering patches of snow on the ground, and the temperatures dropped considerably, especially during the night. Nobody particularly enjoyed the cold weather, but Mouse seemed especially appalled. “You really mean to tell me this is normal for the human realm for at least four months of the year?!” he demanded, sitting as close to the fire as he could during the first night in the mountains.

“What’s the matter, demon?” Alistair asked, as he passed by on his way to stand watch, “You don’t have winter in the Fade?”

“I have heard other demons speak of dreams of winter,” Mouse admitted, “But there was never a mention of the cold.”

“Well, it’s not a sensation most people enjoy,” Amell said, “I’m not surprised dreamers would leave that aspect out.” In fact, now that she thought about it, the temperature in the Fade had always been either perfectly comfortable or just a little too warm whenever she’d been there. Certainly that had been the case during her Harrowing. It made sense, then, that Mouse was unfamiliar with the concept.

Mouse shuddered. “Any demon who manages to pierce the Veil during this season must be in for quite an unpleasant surprise.”

“Indeed,” Amell said, making a note to pass this information on to Irving at the next opportunity, “And speaking of the Veil, tell me more about how you demons can sense the presence of death through it.”

Mouse continued to complain about the cold, but everyone ignored it, or in some cases saw it as a respite from his usual snide remarks. It wasn’t until the fourth day that things changed, in a very unexpected way.

The group was making their way through the mountain pass, gingerly climbing upwards to avoid slipping on the rocky and occasionally icy ground, when Amell noticed a patch of elfroot that looked to be in good condition. Since having elfroot handy for poultices was always advisable, she instructed the party to have a rest while she collected as much as she could. She was just snipping off her fifth or sixth stalk when…

“_Et-kshhh!_”

Amell looked up, surprised at the sound, and glanced over her shoulder to see what had made the noise. The first thing she saw was most of the rest of her team looking just as surprised as she was. The second thing she saw was Mouse, touching his face and looking horrified. “What was _that?_” he said, taking his hand away and staring at something on his fingers.

“It’s called a sneeze,” Leliana answered, “It’s what the body does to expel irritants that get up your nose.”

Mouse rubbed at his nose. “That would explain why it’s felt so…full.”

Alistair, Morrigan, and Shale simultaneously made a disgusted noise. Mouse tried to glare at them, but his eyes involuntarily closed, his head tipped back, and…

“_Heh-CHHT!_”

His head snapped downwards on the sneeze, causing him to spray his own clothes. He looked up again, a dazed expression on his face. Amell assumed it was from the force of the sneeze, until she saw his shoulders rise slightly and his eyes close again. “_Ah…Aktshhh!_”

He sniffed loudly, causing another round of disgusted noises. “Blow your nose, for the Maker’s sake!” Alistair demanded.

“Wh-what?” Mouse managed to say, before sneezing yet again. “_TISHH!_”

Amell quickly stuck the elfroot in her pack and pulled out one of her handkerchiefs, handing it to Mouse. “Here.”

He took it from her, then looked from it to her, blinking uncomprehendingly. Or maybe it was just a prelude to another sneeze. “_Hupshhh!!_”

That’s when Amell remembered that if he wasn’t familiar with the concept of sneezing, then he probably didn’t know the proper way to handle them. She took the handkerchief back and put it to Mouse’s face, covering his nose. “Just…exhale through your nose, as hard as you can.”

Mouse gave her a baffled, suspicious look, but obeyed. Moments later, his eyes widened, and she could see the relief in them. “There you go,” she said, placing the cloth back in his hand, “Doing that will help clear out your nose, and keep it from making too much of a mess and causing even more discomfort. You should sneeze into the handkerchief too, for the same reasons.”

(She decided she wasn’t going to tell him about the other reason one should use a handkerchief; if he found out about that, she’d probably have to start ordering him _not _to single-handedly perform germ warfare.)

Mouse nodded, closing his hand around the handkerchief and holding it close to his chest, as if he wanted to be ready the moment another sneeze manifested. Amell turned her attention back to the elfroot, assuming she’d dealt with the worst of the issue.

Instead, Mouse continued to sneeze for the rest of the day’s journey, and Amell noticed after a while that he wasn’t keeping pace with her like he normally was. But the thing that really made her realize something was wrong was the fact that he wasn’t verbally responding to the comments the other party members were making. Having witnessed Amell have to teach Mouse how to use a handkerchief, some of them immediately decided to use this as a way to get revenge for all the comments he’d lobbed at them over the last three months. This ranged from variations of “How the mighty have fallen” to laughing over how things had to be done for him by a mere human. Ordinarily, Mouse would have fired back with something cutting, but based on what Amell saw when she started glancing over her shoulder, he was either responding with glares or just wasn’t registering the comments at all.

There was, however, one exception to this. Leliana and Alistair had both taken to saying “Maker’s blessing” every time Mouse sneezed, and Amell could see him visibly flinch each time they did so. It made sense—if the Maker had turned His back on spirits, it stood to reason that they wouldn’t respond well to His name, and doubly so if they were demons. The only thing Amell was uncertain of was whether Leliana was doing it out of habit or to deliberately cause Mouse further discomfort.

Initially, she allowed it, as she allowed Mouse’s usual insults. But the more it happened, the more she was reminded of her time in the Circle, of the jeers some of the Templars would toss out to apprentice mages who failed a spell, mocking them for their lack of power while fearing that power at the same time. When she saw Mouse grimace yet again (after a particularly harsh sneeze, no less), she decided something had to be done.

“Leave off that, you two,” she called over her shoulder, “I don’t think Mouse appreciates it very much.”

“And _we_ do not appreciate the insults he throws out on a constant basis,” Morrigan answered, “Surely you would not deny us a chance for a little revenge?”

“I haven’t denied it to you for four hours,” Amell answered, “And I think that’s enough for one day. Besides, it would probably be better to save your breath for the climb.” She suspected nobody was particularly happy with that response, but the jabs at Mouse obligingly stopped until they were ready to make camp for the night.

As soon as they had found a suitable location, Amell’s first action was to stake out her spot and then make a fire. Then she told Mouse to sit in front of it while she prepared the tents. Once that was done, she sat beside him and got a good look at him. Even by firelight, it confirmed what she suspected. While his face was unhealthily pale, his cheeks were flushed red, and his nose was redder still. He was also shivering despite being close to the fire, and his eyes, normally sharp and cunning, had a vacant look about them. She sighed. “A new discovery for both of us, it seems. Demons can catch cold.”

“So it’s the cold that’s irritating my nose, then?” Mouse asked, rubbing said appendage harshly. When Amell nodded, he continued “Then I suggest we get out of this pass as soon as possible, in order for the warmth to chase it away.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,” Amell said, realizing the confusion, “It’s not that the cold temperature itself is making you sneeze, not directly; it’s that the cold weather has caused you to become ill with something we call a cold.”

“Why would you deliberately confuse yourself like that?” Mouse said, “It’s just bound to lead to miscommunication.”

“It’s just the way humans are sometimes.” Amell answered.

“More like most of the time, from what I’ve…” Mouse began, before he abruptly cut off and raised the handkerchief, which was looking quite bedraggled at this point, to his face. “_ESHH!_” He cursed in an unknown language as he finished, shivering harshly, and Amell winced in sympathy. “Is there _anything _you can do about this?” he asked, in a tone that somehow came across as both demanding and pleading.

“Not very much,” Amell said, “Health poultices only close wounds and stop bleeding, and injury kits only fix damaged bones and organs. The best one can do for illnesses like this is to rest and stay warm. Though there are medicines you can take to reduce fevers. I was never good at making those, but perhaps I could ask Morrigan or Wynne to make some for you.”

“Given that they both seem likely to poison me instead, I’d rather not,” Mouse said, a bit of his old bite returning, “Besides, it would give them more to taunt me with.”

“I’d ensure neither of those happened.” Amell promised.

“Yes, but _they_ aren’t forced to follow your orders, are they?” Mouse spat.

Amell sighed again. “If you don’t want me to ask, I won’t. But if you won’t take something for the fever, it’s going to make travelling more difficult for you.”

“I’ll manage,” Mouse insisted, “As long as you keep your demands to a minimum.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Amell said, “In the meantime, give that here.”

She took the sopping handkerchief back from him and cast a drying spell on it before returning it. Then she rummaged around in her pack until she found a spare blanket. “I don’t know if you actually sleep when you’re in your tent,” she said, draping it around Mouse’s shoulders, “But this should help keep you a little warmer either way.”

Mouse blinked at her in momentary surprise, then drew the blanket a little tighter around him. “I suppose it’s time for your usual barrage of questions about the Fade?”

“Not tonight,” Amell answered, “You can just stay by the fire to warm up for a while. Or you can rest in your tent, whichever you prefer.”

He gave her another surprised look. Then his eyes abruptly closed and he brought the handkerchief back to his face. “_Heh-KISHH!_”

“Swift healing.”

Mouse blinked at her over the top of the handkerchief. She smiled faintly. “The Templars may insist that we mages pray in the Chantry, but given our circumstances, quite a few of us doubt that we’re blessed. So we use an alternate phrase.”

“I see,” Mouse said after a moment, “Very…well-reasoned.”

He gingerly got to his feet, groaning a little. “Perhaps it would be best if I went to my tent. I imagine we’ve got another long march ahead of us tomorrow.”

Before Amell could respond to that, he disappeared inside the tent. Amell started casting the various wards and glyphs, wincing whenever she heard a sneeze. When she got to Haven, she promised herself, one of the first things she’d do was to find a shop and buy some extra handkerchiefs. She had a feeling Mouse was going to need them.


	4. Haven

The next day’s hike wasn’t particularly pleasant, for a variety of reasons. There was a biting wind they had to fight against, stinging their eyes and causing them to draw their cloaks tight around them as they fought to move forward. The patches of snow and ice were gradually growing larger, meaning they had to watch their steps through narrowed eyes. While there was no snowfall, the sky was dark grey, making it hard to tell how much time had passed. And perhaps due to a combination of all these factors, the entire party was snappish, all of them complaining about one thing or another. Zevran bemoaned what the wind was doing to his hair and skin, the Mabari literally whined whenever his paws touched snow, Shale grumbled about how slow everyone else was, and Wynne kept huffing that no one was following her advice. As for Amell, she griped about everyone else’s griping, wondering aloud at least once an hour how she had wound up with this group, much less leading them. Fortunately, nobody was in much of a mood to come to blows; all of them seemed to understand the complaints were a way of dealing with the situation and not meant personally.

Amell had been expecting Mouse to be the worst offender in all this, but while he did occasionally grouse about the cold, his sneezing, and the general frailty of humans, he was once again mostly staying quiet, which was honestly more worrying. He did manage to keep pace with the rest of them, but he was generally close to the back, his motions automatic and sluggish. Since he had no cloak, Amell had turned the blanket she’d given him into a makeshift one, and whenever she looked back to check on the group, he was generally holding it tight around him with one hand and keeping the handkerchief close to his face with the other. He was looking increasingly haggard and miserable, and Amell found herself feeling sorry for him, especially since his slow pace was one of the things the others were complaining about. She was wary of extending too much sympathy to him, unsure if this was all a ruse to make her let her guard down, but she did make sure they rested frequently and used that time to dry everyone’s boots and Mouse’s handkerchief. He never thanked her for it, but she didn’t expect him to. Even when ill, she didn’t expect his demeanor to change _that _much.

Somehow, despite all the hardships, the group reached the outskirts of Haven that evening. They made camp in a place where their fires hopefully wouldn’t be noticed, and everyone went to bed shortly after they finished eating. Mouse did the same, again refusing to take any sort of draught to help with his symptoms, throwing a suspicious glare in Morrigan and Wynne’s directions as he did so (Morrigan ignored him, while Wynne just pursed her lips and shook her head slightly). Amell sighed and didn’t press the issue, figuring they’d all bickered enough for one day.

The next morning, Amell decided the wisest course of action was to get a lay of the land in Haven so they could figure out what they were dealing with. Not wanting to draw too much attention, she decided Alistair, Leliana, and her dog should accompany her. Then she looked over at Mouse’s tent, considering. She hadn’t dispelled her wards yet, wanting to let Mouse rest for as long as possible (while also not having to worry about him causing trouble), and she was considering keeping them up while she and the others did their reconnaissance. When she mentioned this aloud, however, nobody seemed to think it was a good idea.

“What if your spells should fail?” Sten asked, “Then he will be loose in the camp, with no one to keep him in check.”

“And there’s a chance we’ll run into trouble in Haven,” Alistair chimed in, “If that happens, you should have all your mana available, instead of continually using some of it to keep the glyphs active.”

Morrigan didn’t mince words. “Keeping him in the camp is foolish. I won’t stay here if he’s allowed to be left to his own devices.”

The dog just looked at the tent and growled.

“Remember your teachings from the Circle,” Wynne said, “Demons are cunning. Even if he truly is ill, he’s still fully capable of turning things to his advantage.”

Leliana was probably the kindest about it. “You should probably have him on hand to keep an eye on him. What if he starts displaying new symptoms and doesn’t know what to do about them? Or if they somehow start interfering with his powers and the bond?”

“Why should he get a break when the rest of us do not?” Zevran said, “Isn’t it better for all of us to be treated equally?”

Shale was…Shale. “Bring the bound rodent along. I’d appreciate the respite from his noises.”

Faced with a unanimous opinion, Amell relented. Dispelling the wards, she roused Mouse and waited for him to emerge. When he finally did, the makeshift cloak drawn tight around him, she couldn’t repress a wince at how exhausted and cold he looked. His extremely chapped and red nose didn’t help much either. “We’re going to explore Haven,” she said, “Will you be able to keep up?”

“As long as you don’t insist on running everywhere,” Mouse answered, his voice hoarse and thick with congestion, “And as long as we spend as little time as possible out…_SICHHH!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said, drying the handkerchief for him once he’d lowered it from his face, “You have my word on the first, though I can’t guarantee the second.”

Mouse groaned, then attempted to shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to live with that. Lead the way.” Amell nodded, called the rest of her team, and then set out.

The walk to Haven was mostly uneventful. Everyone was too busy concentrating on the walk or discussing what they might find in the town to talk about more personal matters, which at least meant that Amell didn’t have to put a stop to any biting comments. She couldn’t help but notice, however, that Mouse’s sneezes were coming less frequently, counterbalanced by being louder and harsher. It was obvious that his cold was getting worse instead of better, and it was seeming increasingly unlikely that he was just putting on an act. She felt guilty for having caved in to the pressure of the rest of the group, and vowed that, once they’d made headway on finding the ashes, she’d slow the group’s pace and allow at least one full day of rest. She’d still have to be on her guard against potential tricks, but it seemed like the most reasonable course of action.

When they arrived in Haven, it became immediately obvious that there was _something _suspicious going on, since there was a guard barring entrance to the town and the group found out that a male was the head of the Chantry here, which went against all established conventions. Unfortunately, they couldn’t seem to convince the guard to let them into the town to learn more…until Mouse sneezed. “_HRESHHH!!_”

As the guard looked at him in surprise, Amell seized her opportunity. “Please, ser, my friend here has been made ill by the cold weather, and as you can see, he lost his cloak during our journey. Won’t you at least allow us in to get him a new one? We’re more than happy to pay for it.”

The guard still looked at her suspiciously, but Mouse’s condition was hard to ignore. “Very well. But don’t linger.”

“Thank you, ser.” Amell said, giving him a grateful smile and bow of the head as the rest of the group moved past him. As soon as they were out of sight, Amell made eye contact with her Mabari and subtly inclined her head. The dog immediately wagged his tail, then barked and ran off in a random direction. “Get back here!” Amell called, then gave an exaggerated sigh. “He must have seen a cat or something. Alistair, Leliana, go find him. Mouse and I will go the shop and pick up his cloak and some other supplies.”

“Of course,” Alistair said, grinning knowingly, “Leliana, let’s split up so we can cover more ground. Who knows where that dog’s gone off to.”

As they moved away, Amell turned to Mouse to get him to start moving towards the shop, and found him giving her an odd look. Even though he was hunched in on himself, one hand clutching the blanket around himself and the other keeping the handkerchief close to his face, his eyes had the same piercing clarity they’d had when she’d realized his true nature in the Fade. It made her a little nervous, to be honest. “What?” she demanded.

“Very clever,” Mouse answered, and he moved the handkerchief just enough for Amell to see that he was smirking, “I see you’re still quick-thinking.”

“I have to be, to deal with the Blight _and_ you at the same time,” Amell retorted, “Now come on, let’s get you that cloak.”

The shop took a minute to find, as it looked identical to the other houses scattered around the square. Once inside, the shopkeeper didn’t seem particularly happy to see them, and gave curt answers to Amell’s (attempt at) casual questions about the town. He was, however, willing to buy and trade, and Amell offloaded some of the weapons she’d gathered on her travels in exchange for some health poultices, lyrium potions, ten handkerchiefs, a pouch to keep the handkerchiefs in, and a thick brown cloak that he claimed to be the best and warmest he had. Amell thanked him, then dragged Mouse outside to equip him and discuss matters with her team without being overheard. Leaving the blanket around Mouse’s shoulders to provide him with some extra warmth, she put the cloak on him and hooked the ends together. “How is it?” she asked, “Is it keeping the cold out a little better?”

Mouse considered for a moment, then nodded. “It’s still incredibly unpleasant out here, but my body does feel warmer.”

“Good,” Amell said, slipping the handkerchiefs into the pouch and arranging them in such a way that a bit of them stuck out of the top, making them easier to withdraw, “Hopefully you’ll feel warmer the longer you wear it.” She moved the cloak to the side and attached the pouch to Mouse’s robes. “And now you won’t need me to keep drying your handkerchief every few hours. With luck, you’ll be able to last at least until we make camp now.”

Mouse let out a half-laugh. “I think you’re underestimating how powerful my sneezes can be.” Then, as if to prove his point, he yanked one of the new handkerchiefs out of the pouch and pressed it to his face, snapping forward with the force of the sneeze. “_EKTSHHHHH!!!_”

“Swift healing.” Amell said, just as she spotted Alistair and Leliana returning, the dog trotting contentedly by their side. “Anything to report?” she asked.

“Most of the town is deserted,” Alistair said, “But the Chantry building at the top of the hill is full of voices. I think they’re all congregated in there.”

“I found your Mabari inside a poorly-latched house,” Leliana added, “He was growling at a bloody altar. Whatever is going on here, I do not think it is something the Maker or Andraste would approve of.”

Amell nodded. “It looks like our only hope of getting answers is to go into the Chantry. It’s a risk barging into a crowded building, but it may also shock someone into saying something. Alistair, take the dog, head back to camp, and send Shale and Sten here. Their size should intimidate the guard into letting them pass, and we’ll have strength on our side if the situation escalates.”

“And me?” Leliana asked.

“You understand Chantry matters. I need you here to tell me if there’s anything out of the ordinary, especially if we wind up having to go through documents. Besides,” Amell smiled, “If the ashes _are_ here, you’re the one most deserving of seeing them.”

Leliana beamed at her. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

Mouse, as was his wont, spoiled the moment. “I imagine you expect me to stay on hand as well.”

“Yes,” Amell answered. “Though I think it’s best for everyone if you just keep to the back and observe. Let me know if you spot anything, but otherwise keep a low profile.”

“Easier said than done at the moment,” Mouse said dryly, waving a hand at his face, “But I’ll attempt to carry out your orders.”

“That’s all I ask. Now let’s get moving. Alistair, tell Shale and Sten to meet us outside the Chantry.” Alistair nodded and set off, the dog hurrying ahead of him to provide a cover for his exit. As he did so, Amell, Leliana, and Mouse made their way towards the area Alistair had indicated. Once they’d made their way up the hill (which was surprisingly steep), they found a corner away from the windows and waited, listening to the murmur of voices in the building. Maybe it was Amell’s anticipation speaking for her, but the longer they waited, the more ominous the sound became.

Shale and Sten finally arrived, Shale chortling over “the pathetic posturing” of the guard. They’d been briefed on the situation by Alistair, so they quickly fell in line behind Amell as she marched to the door and decisively pushed it open.

Sadly, the congregation inside seemed too engrossed by the sermon of the “Revered Father” to take note of her dramatic entrance. For better or for worse, it was once again Mouse’s sneeze that produced results. “_EGISHHHH!!!_”

Heads immediately turned to look at them, a good number of people backing away when they saw Shale and Sten. The priest, by contrast, was remarkably calm, merely dismissing them as outsiders and calling them rude for interrupting before ending the sermon and sending everyone away. Despite his pleasant demeanor, it only took Amell asking (very politely, if she did say so herself) about the urn for him to set his guards on them. Then again, it only took Amell and the others about three minutes to defeat them, so perhaps it balanced out.

As Amell was examining the bodies, Leliana was heading to the pile of books in the back of the church, Sten was sheathing his weapons and Shale was gloating, there was another loud sneeze from Mouse, followed by an undignified yelp. Amell turned towards the sound, and saw Mouse getting to his feet as he stood in the entrance to a doorway she hadn’t remembered seeing before. Briefly making eye contact with her, he cleared his throat, turned away…and then said “There’s someone in here.” with a note of faint surprise in his voice. Amell quickly brushed past him and entered the room to find a man lying on the ground, groaning in pain. She knelt down, helped him sit up, then gave him some water and a poultice before starting to ask questions. He turned out to be Brother Genitivi, the man they’d been looking for, and he said he knew the location of the urn. It was on the top of a mountain near Haven, and he wanted to go there immediately. Given his weakened state and Mouse’s condition, Amell tried to talk him into at least taking a day’s rest, but Genitivi was insistent, and Leliana pleaded to let him see his life’s work through to the end. Giving up and shooting an apologetic look at Mouse (who just gave a resigned shrug), Amell promised they’d go as soon as she made sure it was safe outside. Twenty minutes of fighting with cultists later, they were on their way.

***

Amell knew they were in for trouble as soon as the door to the old temple was opened. While it was still a grand, beautiful place, time and weather had worn away large sections of the ceiling and walls, allowing piles of snow to accumulate. They were wide enough to cover large sections of the floor, and deep enough that they generally came up to her ankles. To make matters worse, the higher altitude meant that the temperatures were lower and the winds both stronger and more constant. Shale wasn’t affected by the cold, Sten appeared to find it invigorating, Genitivi and Leliana were so enthused about being at Andraste’s final resting place that they seemed oblivious to the temperature, and Amell’s Grey Warden abilities had raised her body temperature so that she was much more tolerant to cold. Mouse, on the other hand…

Within minutes of walking inside, Mouse’s shivering seemed to double, even with his new cloak providing warmth. Watching him pull both the cloak and the blanket around himself as tightly as he could, involuntarily hunching in on himself as he did so, Amell felt a sharp pang of guilt for having dragged him along, even if it was only partially her fault. To make matters worse, the group soon discovered that the temple was swarming with cultists, which would slow their progress even further. After battling a dozen cultists _and _a Bronto just to clear out the main hall, Amell made up her mind on how to handle the situation. Or rather, Mouse’s situation.

“All right, listen very carefully, Mouse,” she said, as the five of them stood in front of the door that would take them deeper into the temple (Genitivi had chosen to remain behind to study the architecture and statues in the hall), “For as long as we’re in this temple, I want you to wait next to the entryway of every door we enter until I tell you to come in. That way, you can conserve your strength and won’t have to participate in the fighting. However, if you happen to encounter cultists anyway, you have my permission to use whatever spells or powers you have that will allow you to deal with the problem quickly. Just take a moment to make sure that it’s a cultist and not one of us. Understood?”

Mouse nodded, pressing his back up against the wall near the door’s hinges and sliding down it, trying to arrange the cloak and blanket to cover all of his body. “Repeat what I just told you.” Amell said, wanting to be absolutely sure he had registered what she’d said.

“S-stay by the d-doors until you’ve c-cleared a room of enemies and h-have c-called for me,” Mouse said, teeth chattering, “B-but I c-can use my m-magic if an enemy a-approaches, as l-long as I m-make sure it’s not one of your p-party first.” He looked at her with a flash of his old sarcasm as he positioned a handkerchief in front of his face. “Or d-did you want a word-for-word recita…_TSHIIISHHH!!!_”

“Swift healing. No, that’s fine. Just try to stay warm. Hopefully the rest of the temple will be a bit more enclosed.” With that, she nodded to Sten to push open the door and held her staff at the ready, preparing for another assault.

Slowly, room by room, the group moved through the temple, encountering resistance at every turn. Eventually (and surprisingly) the temple gave way to a labyrinthine cave system, where they started running into young dragons in addition to cultists. Amell also had to amend her rules for Mouse so that he stayed at the mouths of passageways, in already cleared rooms, and in very desperate circumstances, behind large rocks while the rest of them fought their way through. He seemed happy to oblige, especially since the caves weren’t all that much warmer than the temple had been, despite the lack of snow. Whenever they encountered a place with a brazier or even a torch on the wall, Mouse would position himself as close to it as he could, holding trembling hands to the flames. After the fourth or fifth time she saw him do this, Amell took to igniting something (or, once they entered the caves, blasting a rock for a minute) so he’d have something to keep him warm. She wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, since his pace was getting slower and slower and the shivering seemed to be increasing instead of subsiding, but it soothed her conscience a little.

After what must have been two solid hours and nearly two dozen skirmishes, the group finally emerged from the caves into the open air. While there was no snow on the ground here, it still wasn’t a safe place to linger, as it soon became clear that a huge dragon had made the mountain top its home. Fortunately, it seemed too preoccupied with eating to take notice of them, and they managed to cross over to the other side of the small pass without being seen (or heard; by some miracle, Mouse managed to keep from sneezing until they were safely inside). Amell was prepared for another fight, but instead, the room only contained one man, who greeted them with polite respect. He explained that he was the guardian of Andraste’s ashes, and that the cultists had once held the same role but became convinced that the dragon was Andraste reborn, and had thus lost their way. The ashes, he assured them, were safe behind the door he guarded, though in order to reach them, they would have to cross “The Gauntlet”. The first step, apparently, consisted of the man looking into each of their souls and forcing them to address their deepest doubts. Amell was asked about the events that led to her becoming a Grey Warden, Sten of his actions prior to joining Amell’s group, and Leliana about her vision from the Maker. The guardian had a little less luck with Shale, who merely responded to the prodding with a sarcastic “Good for you.” Then the man looked at Mouse, who was propped up against a column some distance back, trying to warm his hands from a torch just above his head.

“Interesting. Come a little closer if you please, Mouse.”

Mouse reluctantly left the fire and dragged himself before the guardian. “Just hurry up and get this over with.”

The guardian fixed him with a piercing stare. “A demon, mired in corruption and reduced to a servant. Yet amongst the darkness, I see a spark of light. If given the choice, would you nurture that spark…or snuff it out?”

“You act as though I _have _a choice.” Mouse replied, his angry tone hampered by the croak in his voice.

“So you pretend,” the guardian answered calmly, “But while you are bound to follow her orders, she cannot control what’s in your heart. And your heart is in turmoil.”

“So is the rest of my body,” Mouse said, shivering again for emphasis, “I don’t know how humans put up with this.”

“I see you insist on flippancy,” the guardian said, “Perhaps because you yourself aren’t sure of the answer. Allow yourself to consider the question the next time you’re in your tent with nothing but your thoughts.”

Mouse gave him a dirty look before pitching forward with another harsh sneeze. “_HRISHHH!!!_” The guardian ignored him and stepped aside, allowing them passage to the rest of The Gauntlet. After peering inside cautiously to make sure they weren’t about to fight yet _another _collection of enemies, Amell led them through the door.

The first room was nothing but a series of riddles relating to Andraste’s life. Amell was almost grateful for the sermons she’d been forced to attend in the Circle, since they allowed her to answer the questions easily. She also couldn’t help but remember how she’d answered riddles during her Harrowing, but when she glanced at Mouse to see if he was thinking along similar lines, she saw him huddled in a corner, watching proceedings with a pained look on his face. Taking the hint, she tried to answer the questions as fast as possible, successfully making it to the other side of the room without incident.

The second room involved another battle, but instead of baby dragons or soldiers, the enemies were ghostly versions of the party, including a healthy and unfettered Mouse. While the real Mouse remained in the antechamber as ordered, the other four did battle with what Zevran surely would have called “a metaphor taken a little _too _literally”. The Shale phantom was probably the most difficult to defeat, but all things considered, the fight didn’t take too long, and they were able to progress to the next room.

The third room was a puzzle involving a series of buttons that needed to be held down to activate a bridge. Once she realized this, Amell sighed in irritation, pulled out some parchment and charcoal from her pack, and instructed the others (sans Mouse) to stand on the buttons one by one as she wrote down what they did. Once she’d done that, it was just a matter of process of elimination to get the correct answer, and after pressing the appropriate combination, the bridge fully materialized, allowing them to pass.

The fourth room initially looked intimidating, with a huge wall of flame barring the way. But upon reading the altar placed just before the fire, it quickly became clear that all the group had to do was remove most of their clothes and equipment before passing through it. Sten seemed dubious, but Amell assured him that she’d seen magical barriers that had similar restrictions, so he obligingly began to remove his armor. Mouse was also reluctant to disrobe, but for very different reasons.

“Can’t I just stay on this side?” he said, in a tone that could only be called whining, “I’m actually somewhat warm for the first time in hours. I don’t want to do anything to ruin that.”

“I’m sorry, Mouse,” Amell said, “I really am. But I don’t know how this Gauntlet works. It may not be considered complete until all supplicants have completed the trials. Hopefully it’ll only be for a minute or so. And perhaps you can just stand in the middle of the flames and stay warm that way.” Mouse glanced at the fire, sneezed, then sighed and reluctantly moved to unhook his cloak.

As it turned out, passing through the fire was the final test, and after receiving congratulations from the guardian, the fire vanished and they were allowed to put their clothes on again. “Forgive me if I remain by the altar,” Mouse said, trying to pull on his robes quickly but mostly just managing to wrinkle them before they dropped over his head, “It’s retained some of the fire’s heat. Besides, I doubt the Maker wants me getting too close to His wife’s remains. He’d probably strike me dead where I stood.” His eyes widened, and he made a grab for his pouch before being forced to sneeze into the blanket instead. “_IKSHHHHPT!_” He groaned, then muttered “Then again, perhaps that would be preferable.” Amell gave him a sympathetic smile, then turned her attention to the dais where the ashes were resting.

Leliana of course was overwhelmed at being so close to Andraste. Sten and Shale seemed unimpressed. Amell acknowledged the holiness of the place and the occasion, but mostly she took a perverse sort of pleasure in being a mage who had been considered worthy and got to be the first in decades to touch Andraste’s remains. Taking a small pinch of the ashes to hopefully cure Arl Eamon, she left the dais and called for Mouse to join them, moving for the exit the guardian had indicated before leaving.

Said exit deposited them back on the small mountain pass separating the—tomb? Mausoleum?—from the rest of the temple. It looked like there was another doorway leading to a lower entrance that might save them some time, so Amell headed in that direction. Just as she stepped out of the shadow of the building, she heard an angry roar, and the Andraste dragon landed just in front of her, bellowing again. Amell swore and pulled her staff from her back, preparing to fight.

Despite the group’s exhaustion from all they’d gone through in Haven and the temple, they managed to hold their own for quite some time. Perhaps it was sheer stubbornness that kept them on their feet. Amell hit the dragon with every Primal spell (excepting the fire ones; she suspected those would be next to useless) she had, Leliana hung back and shot arrows at the most likely weak spots, and Sten and Shale charged in to do what damage they could in close quarters. But while they were giving it their all, their all wasn’t enough.

After being knocked over yet again by a sweep of the dragon’s wings, Amell moved to a safe distance and quickly took stock of the situation. Leliana was on the ground, having been knocked unconscious when she’d been unable to get out of the way of the dragon’s thrashing tail. Sten was still fighting, but bleeding heavily, and his blows didn’t seem to have the same force behind them. Shale appeared to be doing fine, but there was no telling what was truly going on underneath all that rock. And while Amell herself was in reasonable shape, her mana was running low, and she only had one lyrium potion left. She was prepared to fight to the last, but she had to admit that it wasn’t looking good.

As she pulled out the vial of blue liquid and prepared to uncork it, she heard a growl. But it wasn’t the angry rumble she’d been hearing on and off for the past half-hour; it was harsh, rasping, and otherworldly, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. She raised her head just in time to see the dragon lurch to the left, blood dripping out of four fresh gashes in its side. It roared its displeasure at something off to the right, and Amell automatically followed the turn of its head…only for her mouth to drop open.

A pride demon, nearly the same color as the dragon and only a head shorter than it, was standing there, glaring at the dragon. As Amell watched, it lunged forward and lashed out with its other hand, raking the dragon’s back and creating four new gashes. The dragon shrieked and sent a jet of flame at the demon, who just stood there and let itself be torched. Snapping out of her shock, Amell knew they needed to press the advantage. Gulping down her final potion, she sent a healing spell towards Sten. “Shale!” she screamed, “Hit it with everything you have!”

Shale obliged, slamming the ground and briefly knocking the dragon off balance. It was all the opportunity Sten needed, and he charged forward, thrusting his sword into the dragon’s underbelly. The dragon let out another shriek, and then its legs gave out from under it and its head collapsed to the ground, the light rapidly leaving its eyes. Sten bellowed something in Qunari, arms and sword raised in triumph. Amell allowed herself a triumphant cry of “_Yes!_” before moving to where Leliana lay, health poultice and injury kit at the ready.

As she gently tapped Leliana’s face to rouse her, she looked back to their unlikely ally. The pride demon form was gone, leaving Mouse in his human form again. He was swaying unsteadily, one hand on his head while the other clutched his cloak close to him. A moment later, he looked over in Amell’s direction. She gave him a grateful smile. He just blinked at her, before his head snapped downwards. “_HEKTSHHH!!!_”

Amell could see him starting to lift his head, but the sneeze had been the last straw, it seemed. One hand dropped from his head, the other loosened its grip on the cloak, and his body crumpled to the ground, as still as the dragon he had just helped to slay.


	5. The Care and Nursing of Demons

“_Mouse!_” Amell gasped, staring in horror. Part of her had been expecting Mouse’s strength to give out, but for it to happen now, after what he’d just done for them…

She felt the healing items slide out of her hands. “Go on,” Leliana said faintly, “I can apply these myself. He needs your attention more than I do.” Nodding distractedly, Amell got to her feet and hurried over to where Mouse was lying.

To her relief, she could hear him breathing as she approached, even if it sounded more like a rattle than a breath. Kneeling beside him, she tried to help him sit up, only for her hand to recoil when she felt the heat radiating off his body. It was possible some of it was lingering heat from the dragon’s breath, but she suspected the primary cause was fever. “Mouse?” she murmured, shaking him as lightly as she could, “Mouse, can you hear me?”

Mouse groaned, though he was so weak that only a few trembling noises emerged, and his eyes half-opened. It was enough for Amell to see how glassy they were, and she knew he wasn’t going to be in any condition to walk. But she wasn’t entirely sure what her options were. She didn’t have the strength to carry him. Leliana didn’t either, and she was dazed from her own injury besides. Sten and Shale both had the strength, but she wasn’t sure she trusted Shale to be gentle and Sten wasn’t much better. Besides, there was a possibility they’d run into more cultists, so they’d need to be ready to spring into action. But what other options were there? It wouldn’t exactly be good for Mouse if they dragged…

The answer came to Amell like a bolt of lightning, and she cursed herself for not having thought of it sooner. “Mouse,” she said, squeezing his shoulder hard in an attempt to cut through the fever haze, “I need you to shapeshift into your mouse form.”

“N-no…” Mouse whispered, his voice barely audible, “Please…hurts…”

“I know,” Amell said, pushing aside his cloak and removing the pouch of handkerchiefs, “But it’s the best option. Not only will we be able to get you back to camp faster, but being covered in fur might allow you to feel a little warmer. And I promise you, I won’t make you shapeshift again until you’ve recovered. Please, Mouse? For your own sake?”

Mouse didn’t respond for a moment. Then he grimaced, his body tensing, and with a flash of light, a mouse’s body was underneath her hand, trembling violently. A second later, a sharp gasp of pain that cracked partway through rang through her ears. “It’s all right, Mouse,” Amell said, gingerly picking him up and stroking his back, “You won’t have to do that again for a while.”

Pulling a clean handkerchief from the pouch before attaching the pouch to her own hip, she wrapped Mouse in the handkerchief for warmth and protection before slipping him in her pack. Then she got to her feet. “Let’s go!” she barked, “We need to get back to camp as soon as possible!”

Fortunately, they were able to cross to the other door with no further incident, and there were no cultists waiting for them on the other side. In fact, their biggest obstacle was Brother Genitivi, who was brimming with questions about what they’d seen. “We can talk about it in camp,” Amell told him curtly once she was able to get a word in edgewise, “One of our team is in need of healing, and you have your own wounds to be tended to. Now let’s get moving, if you please!” Genitivi was startled by her tone, but obligingly fell in with them as they made their way out of the temple.

At Amell’s order, Sten and Shale went ahead of the others to clear the way if necessary. Knowing she’d hear the sounds of battle long before she saw it, Amell took advantage of the situation and pulled Mouse out of her pack to check on him. He was still shivering, eyes screwed shut, and his body was so warm to the touch that it reminded her of the sensation she felt whenever she conjured up a fireball. As she looked him over, she saw his nose twitch, whiskers quivering, before he turned his head into the nearest fold of the handkerchief. “_Tchh! Chh! It-kshh!_” Amell was a little surprised at the tiny sounds, but was more focused on getting him back to camp than dwelling on the change. There would be time to question it later; what was more important was making sure there _was_ a later for Mouse.

***

As soon as she arrived in camp, Amell started giving orders. “Wynne, I need you to make a potion for reducing fever. Make it as strong as you can, and do it as quickly as you dare.” Wynne was startled, but when she saw the shaking mouse in Amell’s hands, she quickly realized what was going on. While she did give Amell a questioning glance, she moved to do as she was told.

Amell then moved to her campfire and called her Mabari over. “I need you to use your fur to help him feel a little warmer.” she said, showing him Mouse’s quivering form. The Mabari gave her a confused whine, followed by a suspicious growl. “Please, boy?” Amell said, “I’ll give you a pile of Mabari Crunch.”

The dog still seemed reluctant. “He saved my life, boy,” Amell said pleadingly, “I owe him this much.”

The Mabari looked down at Mouse, cocking his head for a moment, then slowly sat down by the fire. “Good boy,” Amell said, patting the dog’s head and laying Mouse (and the handkerchief he was wrapped in) down beside him, “I’ll get you those Crunches.”

Once she’d set five of the bone-shaped treats in the Mabari’s reach, she moved to Wynne’s tent to see how the fever reducer was coming along and to offer up what help she could. “It should be done in ten minutes,” Wynne said, stirring the pot and throwing in a pinch of herbs, “In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to explain what exactly happened in Haven?”

Since there wasn’t much she could do but wait, Amell gave a shortened version of everything they’d gone through. When she got to the part about Mouse’s aid in fighting the dragon, Wynne looked at her sharply. “He transformed into his true shape? How was that possible?”

It was a good question. Amell had been too stunned by the sight and then too concerned for Mouse’s condition to answer that question. After wracking her brain for a minute, the answer came to her. “I gave him free reign to use whatever powers he thought would help defeat an enemy quickly, as long as he first made sure the person he was attacking wasn’t one of us. Apparently he decided changing into his demon form would help dispatch the dragon.”

Wynne looked in the direction of Amell’s tent, a mixture of disapproval and anxiety on her face. “While I’m glad you made sure he couldn’t hurt any of your team, this is still a good example of why you must be very clear and careful with your wording. But what I find more troubling is the fact that he helped you. You’re sure you didn’t order him to?”

Amell shook her head. “In the heat of battle, I’d forgotten he was even there. At most, I assumed he was following my instructions and had found a safe place to wait out the fighting.”

“Then why would he assist you? What would he have to gain?” Wynne frowned and looked into the pot, “I fear he may have some plan with all this.”

“He really doesn’t seem to be in any shape to be putting plans into motion,” Amell said, “But I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“See that you do,” Wynne said, before scooping some of the mixture into a vial, “This should lower his temperature within an hour. But he needs to drink all of it.”

Amell nodded and, holding the vial by the edge to keep from burning herself, carried it back to her tent. Both Mouse and the Mabari were where she’d left them, the dog chewing on one of his treats while Mouse continued to shiver, pressed as close to the Mabari’s stomach as he could apparently manage. Amell knelt beside them, giving her dog a quick pat on the head before turning her full attention to Mouse. Gently pulling his head towards her with two fingers, she put the vial to his mouth. “Drink this. It will help.”

Mouse, eyes still shut tight, started to obey, but as soon as he’d actually swallowed some of the liquid, he jerked his head away, coughing harshly. “I know, it’s not exactly a pleasant taste,” Amell said, “But you need to drink it if you want to stop feeling so cold.”

Mouse shook his head, though it was impossible to tell if it was out of defiance or genuine revulsion for the medicine. Then his nose twitched again and he lowered his head to the handkerchief he was still wrapped in. “_Hikshh! Tichh!_”

Amell sighed in frustration. In other circumstances, she might have been willing to argue with him, or cajole him into drinking the medicine sip by sip. But after everything she’d gone through today, her patience was at an end, and her anxiety and guilt wouldn’t be assuaged until she knew Mouse was starting to recover. There was only one way to be sure of that, even if it caused discomfort for both her and him in the short term.

“I’m sorry, Mouse,” she said softly, before wrapping her hand firmly around him, forcing his head upwards again, “Now drink. That’s. An. Order.”

His eyes actually flickered open at that, though it was hard to tell if he truly saw her or not. Then he shut them again and reluctantly pressed his mouth to the lip of the vial. Holding him in place, Amell poured the liquid down his throat, pausing every few seconds to allow him to swallow. And he did swallow, even as he squirmed and made a series of protesting noises. The first few sounded angry or disgusted, but they soon gave way to something that almost sounded like whimpering. “Almost done,” Amell said, hoping she sounded soothing, “Just a few more swallows.”

At last, the vial was empty, and she took it away, relaxing her grip on Mouse at the same time. “It’s over. You won’t have to take it again for a few hours. Longer if your temperature lowers to a manageable level.” He didn’t respond, instead pressing himself against the Mabari’s body again. Amell knew it was best to let him be, and went to check on Leliana and Genitivi.

After a few hours of her and her expedition force regaling Genitivi and the rest of her teammates with their adventures in Haven and the temple, it was agreed that they should all turn in and, assuming everyone was strong enough to travel, that they would set out for Redcliffe the next morning. Bidding everyone goodnight, Amell returned to her tent, hoping Mouse’s condition had improved.

Fortunately, it appeared that it had. Mouse’s body was still trembling, but it wasn’t as violent as it had been, and he looked like he was dozing instead of just sporadically drifting into and out of consciousness. She didn’t want to disturb him, but it would be better for him if he spent the night in a tent instead of outside, so she gingerly cupped her hands around him and lifted him up, handkerchief “blanket” and all. Reassuringly, he didn’t feel quite as warm to the touch, another sign that the medicine was working. Mouse shifted position a bit, but didn’t seem to wake up, so Amell carried him into her tent, calling for her dog to follow. Once inside, she instructed the Mabari to lie in a corner, before placing Mouse against the dog’s stomach again and covering them both with a blanket. Giving the dog a Double Baked Mabari Crunch as a thank you, she started to prepare for bed. She was just organizing her pack for the next day when the thought crossed her mind about how they were going to transport Mouse. Sticking him in her pack worked well enough in the short term and when there weren’t enemies to fight, but they were bound to encounter bandits or darkspawn on the way back to Redcliffe, and all the jostling (not to mention the occasional moment when she was knocked to the ground) probably wouldn’t be good for him, especially with all the weapons and armor with sharp corners she carried in there. She couldn’t carry him in her hands for similar reasons, and the same problem applied to all her companions, even _if _one of them was willing to carry him in the first place. And making him walk would be cruel, especially since she’d promised he could stay in his mouse form. There had to be some other option.

As she turned her head to look over at Mouse and the dog, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. When she’d been working her way through the Circle to clear out the demons, she’d found a set of robes, enchanted with various spells that made both it and the wearer more resilient to damage. Wynne had identified them as being in the style the magisters wore in Tevinter. Whether they were the genuine article or had just been made to resemble them by a spiteful mage, Amell had found them beautiful and was given permission by Wynne and Irving to keep them in thanks for all she’d done for the tower. It was covered with gold and copper detailing, had numerous little decorative flourishes…and the shoulders were draped in soft, warm fur. Feeling a combination of relief and satisfaction rush through her, Amell yanked off her robes, threw on her nightclothes, and set to work.

***

The next morning, the first thing Amell did was check on Mouse. He was right where she’d left him, although the handkerchief surrounding him was more rumpled and dirty. Kneeling down to touch him, she could tell that he was still feverish, but his temperature was much less worrisome. “Mouse?” she said softly, “How are you feeling?”

“Awful.” Mouse croaked, apparently too weak to even add a biting remark.

Amell nodded in sympathy, unable to stop herself from giving his body a quick, hopefully comforting stroke. “Do you think you’ll be up for travelling, as long as you’re being carried?”

Mouse was silent for a moment. Then he gingerly poked a paw out of the handkerchief, only to audibly shudder and pull it back in. “Still cold.” As if to prove his point, his nose twitched, and he ducked his head inside the handkerchief, sneezing the same sort of tiny sneezes she’d heard last night. “_Ikshh! Tichh!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said, “Don’t worry, I think I found a solution.”

She changed back into her Archon robes, then sat down and set Mouse on her lap, indicating to her dog that he could go out and have some breakfast. The dog gave her an eager bark and a relieved look before bounding out of the tent. Amell smiled after him, then focused her attention on Mouse. Removing the handkerchief he was wrapped in, she lifted him up and nudged him into the fur on her left shoulder before he could complain about the cold again. She’d spent an hour last night carving out a crude little pouch, one that was fur-lined on the inside and the outside. That, combined with her body heat, would hopefully be enough to keep Mouse warm. For a last-minute solution, Amell thought it was a pretty good one. In addition to the warmth, it meant she knew where Mouse was at all times, minimized the chance of him causing trouble to anyone but her, and since he was on her left shoulder and not her right, she’d still be able to wield her staff without any difficulty. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Better.” Mouse answered after a pause. Then there was another pause before he said, almost shyly, “Handkerchief?”

Unsure if he wanted to cling to something familiar or if he’d really taken her advice about sneezing into handkerchiefs to heart, Amell pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pouch and stuffed it into the pouch next to him. “All right?”

“For now.” Mouse said, before sneezing again. Figuring that was the best she’d get from him, Amell got to work packing up her tent.

After taking down both her tent and Mouse’s unused one, she joined the rest of the party for a quick breakfast. Genitivi was present as well, although he ate quickly and then left them, wanting to hurry back to Denerim and start reporting and cataloguing his findings. While the group couldn’t convince him to stay with them for safety, they did give him some of their spare supplies so he wouldn’t be travelling across Ferelden with minimal gear. Once everyone else was finished eating, Amell asked Wynne for another vial of the fever reducer, which caused Mouse to swear and everyone to stare at her shoulder. Apparently they hadn’t heard his occasional sneezes throughout breakfast, or they’d assumed he was in her pack. Amell reached into her makeshift shoulder pouch and pulled a still protesting Mouse out. “It’s for your own good, Mouse,” she said, “If your fever spikes while we’re travelling, it’ll be a lot more difficult to tend to. Doing it now should keep your temperature relatively steady, and hopefully keep you more comfortable.”

Mouse tried to glare up at her, though the effect was hampered by the unfocused look in his eyes, as well as by his nose and whiskers twitching again. Amell pulled the handkerchief out of her shoulder pouch and got it to his face just in time. “_Tchii! Hiktshh!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said, taking the vial Wynne handed her, “Look, you can either drink it in three or four swallows, or I can force feed it to you again. You decide which one will be less unpleasant for you.”

Mouse heaved a deep sigh. “Fine. Just be quick.”

Amell uncorked the vial, pressed down lightly on Mouse’s body to keep him from squirming too much, and then put the vial to his mouth. He sighed again, then nodded for her to tip the vial. He managed two deep gulps before he wrenched his head away with a raspy cough. “Ugh,” he said, shaking his head, ears lying flat, “Disgusting.”

“But helpful,” Amell replied, “Come on, just drink a little more, and then you can go back in your little hidey-hole and grumble at us to your heart’s content.” Mouse gave her a sideways look, then obligingly drank the rest of the vial. As he made another series of displeased noises, Amell tucked him and the handkerchief back into her shoulder, then shot a look at the rest of her team, who had been watching all this unfold with a mixture of bafflement and amusement. “Let’s get moving,” she said, standing up, “Arl Eamon needs us.”

The rest of the day passed by surprisingly uneventfully. They didn’t run into any enemies, and since they were heading down the mountain, the walk wasn’t as arduous. Even Mouse kept out of trouble; while Amell could hear him muttering to himself as they started walking, he fell silent after about ten minutes, and when she pulled the pouch open and craned her neck to peer inside, she found that he’d fallen asleep, head tucked between his front paws. She bit her lip to keep from chuckling, then left him to what was hopefully a healing sleep.

Thanks in part to the downward slope and the lack of combat, the group made excellent time, getting more than halfway down the mountain before sundown, at which point they made camp. Looking over the map, Amell and Alistair concluded that they’d reach Redcliffe by the end of the week if they could maintain this pace. While there was still no guarantee that Andraste’s ashes would actually cure the Arl, the fact that they were so close to achieving another goal had everyone in high spirits. Even Mouse seemed pleased when Amell promised him that the party would stay a few extra days in Redcliffe for everyone to recover their strength, and to sleep in something more comfortable than a tent. That didn’t stop him from complaining his way through another vial of fever reducer, but Amell liked to think it was a more muted griping. That night, she let him stay burrowed in her shoulderpiece, though she did cast a glyph of paralysis on her robes once she’d laid them on an adjoining bedroll for the night. Even though it was a wise precaution, she couldn’t help but feel faintly ridiculous in doing so.

To everyone’s relief, Amell and Wynne (who’d been called in for a second opinion) agreed the next day that Mouse’s fever was low enough that another vial wouldn’t be necessary until the evening, so the whole camp was spared more grousing about the vile taste. That didn’t mean he was entirely silent, though; the reduction of the fever meant he was able to focus more on his surroundings, and one aspect in particular.

Shortly after they’d started their days hike, Mouse sneezed, the same sort of tiny sneeze he’d been emitting ever since his transformation. That wasn’t so unusual at this point, but what was new was that Amell could feel him moving around inside her shoulderpiece for a few seconds before he sneezed again. This continued for a good two or three minutes before she decided to investigate. “What’s going on in there?” she asked, pinching the fur and lifting it up so she could hear Mouse a little better.

“What’s going on is that these blasted hairs keep getting in my face and making me…” his words cut off abruptly, and he sneezed again. “_Sichh!_”

“Swift healing. Well, there’s not much I can do about that at the moment. Maybe try keeping your head between your paws, or keeping your nose in the handkerchief?”

“That just delays the inevitable,” Mouse said, “Don’t you have some sort of spell that could help?”

“I’m not familiar with any spells that make things less ticklish, or noses less sensitive. The best I can do is trim the area surrounding the pouch, so you can poke your nose out of it. And that’ll have to wait until we make camp.”

Mouse sighed. “Well then, couldn’t you use a spell to…_Kipshh!_…knock me out for the duration?”

“As increasingly tempting as you’re making that option, I’m not wasting mana on a minor inconvenience.”

“You call this a _minor _inconvenience?”

“Since it’s not happening to me, yes. Now find some way to cope like the rest of us humans do.” With that, Amell released the fur to let him know that the conversation was over. Mouse resumed shifting around and sneezing, though now she could hear what sounded like cursing sprinkled in there as well. She tuned him out, though she felt a little more of her anxiety lift; if he was throwing out insults, he was starting to recover.

(Once she retired to her tent that night, she allowed Mouse to perch on her shoulder while she carefully cut away bits of fur from the pouch’s opening, letting him climb in and out to see if it met with his approval. The process took longer than it had for her to make the pouch in the first place, it left a somewhat noticeable bald patch on the shoulder, and Mouse seemed delighted by the opportunity to boss her around. For all that, though, Amell thought it was worth it when, just before she cast the paralysis glyph for the night, she heard a muffled “Thank you” from inside the now-satisfactory pouch. She knew better than to call attention to it, but it still felt like she’d achieved a minor victory.)

***

While the team did encounter a few packs of bandits and darkspawn as they made their way to Redcliffe, they arrived at Arl Eamon’s castle after a few days of steady travel. To pretty much everyone’s relief, the ashes did indeed seem to have curative properties, because Eamon was roused from his stupor and seemed to recover much of his strength upon waking. He was impressed with all Amell and her party had done to help him, his family, and Ferelden, and was more than happy to let them spend a few days in his home to rest and replenish their supplies. Amell didn’t want to request a second room for Mouse for a variety of reasons, so instead she made him a bed of sorts on a comfortable chair near the fireplace, the freshly cleaned and pressed handkerchiefs piled by his side. By this time, Mouse’s fever was mostly gone, only rising a bit in the evenings, but he still claimed weakness, a fogged head, and congestion in his nose and throat. Since it wouldn’t hurt to let him rest in a place protected from the wind and cold, Amell didn’t press the issue. Instead, she cast a paralysis glyph on the chair and left Mouse to doze while she discussed matters with Eamon and the rest of her group.

On the second afternoon of their stay, Amell was in her room, taking advantage of Eamon’s library to read up on the Dalish elves and the dwarves in preparation for meeting with them, when Mouse spoke up from his chair. “If you wouldn’t mind dropping this spell, I believe I’m ready to assume my human form again.”

Amell obligingly lifted the glyph and watched as a white light flashed and Mouse, human once more, stood up from the chair, only to sway and put a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself. “Take it slow,” Amell suggested, “You haven’t been using your legs much in the past few days, much less tried to walk on two. You’ll probably need to practice a bit.”

Mouse shook his head in mild disbelief even as he gingerly started walking towards the far wall, one hand always at the ready to grab onto something. “Is it always like this when humans fall ill?”

“Not always. It depends on the length and severity of the illness. Besides, this was your first experience with sickness. It’s not a surprise it’s left you out of sorts.”

Mouse reached the wall and kept a hand against it as he started moving to the far corner of the room. “How do you stand it?”

“We certainly don’t enjoy it,” Amell admitted, “But it’s something we’ve just learned to deal with and work around as best we can. Given time, you will too.”

“Useful as that might be, I think I’ll try to avoid the experience.” Amell smiled faintly in response and returned to her reading, only to be interrupted a minute later when she felt a hand on the back of her chair. “What are you reading?” Mouse asked.

“_In Pursuit of Knowledge _and _Stone Halls of the Dwarves_, both by our friend Brother Genitivi, and _Ferelden: Folklore and History_ by someone called Sister Petrine,” Amell answered, gesturing to each book in turn, “I’m just trying to find anything that might help us gain the trust of the elves and dwarves. Even with the Grey Warden treaties, showing respect for their culture will make it easier to get them on our side.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Mouse said, “Give me one of those.”

“Why?” Amell said, surprised by his tone, which was almost requesting instead of imperious.

“Because you aren’t the only one who has things they need or want to learn,” Mouse replied, “I’ll let you know if I find anything useful.”

Amell hesitated, then shrugged and passed him _Ferelden: Folklore and History_. “Here. This seems like a decent enough place to start.”

Mouse nodded, tucked the book under his arm, and made his way back to his chair, where he sat down and started to read from the beginning, instead of using the index like Amell had been doing. Amell watched him for a moment, still a little baffled by this turn of events. Then she returned to her own reading.

For several minutes, a peaceful silence fell, with no sound but the crackling fire and the turn of pages. Then Mouse sneezed, the sound a little louder and stronger than it had been in his mouse form, though not as bad as it had been during their slog through the temple. “_Het-keshh!_”

“Swift healing.” Amell said, standing up from her chair as something occurred to her. Pulling the duvet off the bed, she came to Mouse’s chair and threw it over his legs. “Best to stay warm,” she explained when he glanced up at her in confusion, “It’s unlikely you’ll fall ill again while you’re here, but we might as well take every precaution. And obviously, the scrap of wool you were using as a mouse isn’t going to cut it.”

Mouse nodded his understanding and returned to his reading. Amell paused, debating with herself, and then decided now was probably the best time she’d ever have to ask. “Mouse?”

He lowered the book again. “Yes?”

“Back in Haven, when we were fighting the dragon…why did you help us? You were ill, and you must have known that transforming would have weakened you still further. Besides, you had every reason to let us die.”

Mouse ran his hand over the pages of the book, considering. “Perhaps the fever was clouding my mind,” he said at last, “Because at that particular moment, I had a great deal of respect for you and didn’t much want to see you killed.”

Amell blinked at him. “What?”

He looked up at her. “You solved the temple’s riddles and puzzles on your own, with no input from the others. You quickly came up with the best course of action, be it deciding who would be best to accompany you or finding ways to bend the rules the guard laid out. I suppose I thought it would be a shame for someone so promising to be cut down.”

Amell stared at him, simultaneously feeling a warmth in her chest at the compliments and an immediate suspicion in her mind. Flattery was the quickest way for a pride demon to get inside your head and open you up to temptation and possession. Mouse himself had tried a similar trick during her Harrowing. And just as now had been the best time for her to ask why he’d helped her, it was equally a good time for him to play his old games, now that she was flush with success from saving Eamon and still somewhat thinking of Mouse as an invalid. It made it difficult for her to come up with the appropriate response.

As it turned out, Mouse saved her the trouble, as a smirk spread across his face. “Even now, you remain on your guard around me, as evidenced by the glyphs and your careful silences. I’m impressed, even if it does make my life more challenging. Then again, we pride demons enjoy a good challenge.”

“I aim to please,” Amell answered dryly, stepping away from the chair, “Now then, get back to your reading. Don’t leave that chair. If you want to do another turn around the room, ask me first. And you’re forbidden to use the book or its pages as a weapon against me or any of my allies.”

“Ah, we’re back to the orders,” Mouse said with a fake sigh, “Very well, as you command.”

Amell started to move away, then said, over her shoulder;

“Thank you. For what you did. I’m not sure we could have defeated that dragon without your help.”

As she took her seat again, Mouse answered “You’re welcome. And loathe as I am to say it, consider us even. After all, you also looked after me even when you didn’t have to.”

Amell pulled _In Pursuit of Knowledge _towards her, preparing to lose herself in her research. But before she did so, she reflected that even if it was an experience neither of them had enjoyed, it seemed that Mouse’s first exposure to illness had actually been good for the both of them.


	6. Rapprochement

After another two days of rest, Amell decided the whole group was ready to set out once more. She’d put the matter to a vote, and barring some abstentions, the consensus was that their next stop should be the Brecilian Forest, to try to locate the Dalish elves. Thus agreed, they set out the following morning, in reasonably high spirits.

Now that Mouse was fully recovered, he walked alongside the rest of them, still carrying nothing but his cloak (the blanket had been left at Redcliffe to be turned into scraps) and the pouch of handkerchiefs. But instead of returning to his usual behavior of needling her and her companions, he kept surprisingly silent. When Amell glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was still there and not showing signs of mischief or falling ill again, she saw an expression on his face that suggested he was lost in thought. Not wanting to cause friction (or rather, as much friction, given the personalities of some of her party members) on their first day back on the road, she decided not to point it out.

Well, not until they were in camp that night. “What were you so contemplative about?” she asked, as they sat beside their campfire.

“I was just thinking over some of the things I read in those books,” Mouse said with a shrug, “It put some things I saw while in the Fade into context, though there were other details that were completely new to me. I suppose I was just trying to sort it all out in my head.”

Amell was initially surprised, but after a moment’s reflection, she realized it made sense. Mouse’s only experience with humans had been through their dreams in the Fade. And since dreams were fragmented at the best of times, of course he’d only be able to grasp the basics, and even that was only by repeated exposure to certain ideas, like how mages were controlled by Templars or that almost everyone believed that Andraste was the bride of the Maker. Wasn’t a desire to experience human life part of the reason why demons wanted out of the Fade in the first place?

She looked Mouse over, considering. Then, perhaps compelled by the gratitude she felt over his assistance in helping her find information about the elves and dwarves, she said;

“I’m not exactly an expert on the subject, since I’ve spent most of my life in the Circle and thus had to pick it up from books and lessons, but…I could help you sort it out, if you want.”

Now Mouse was the one to look surprised. “You’d do that?”

“There’d be limitations, of course,” Amell said, “I’m not going to give you information that you could potentially use against us. But history, philosophy, what it’s like to be human…I’d be willing to talk you through them. I suppose it’s only fair, after I’ve pulled so much information about the Fade out of you.”

Mouse’s eyes gleamed, but the smile on his face looked genuinely excited instead of calculating. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t putting on an act, but as long as she watched him carefully for any sign of trickery, she’d keep her word. She smiled back at him. “Where would you like to start?”

***

And so the two of them fell into a new evening routine. As soon as Amell had put up the tents, stoked the fire, and checked in with the rest of the party, she and Mouse would sit and discuss things, Amell letting Mouse lead the conversation. Sometimes he asked questions with easy answers, like what the purpose of jewelry was, and other times it got a little more complicated, like the nature of fear and trying to overcome it. He was a good listener, waiting until she’d finished speaking before asking another question or offering up his own interpretation to make sure he understood. Sometimes they would even get into a bit of a debate on a point, which occasionally ended with both of them confused and no clearer to finding or agreeing on an answer, but not displeased with the outcome. The conversations were clearly for Mouse’s benefit, but Amell felt like they were helping to expand her own worldview, a surprising but welcome development.

Amell felt that there was a change in dynamics with the rest of the group too. While Mouse still threw out insults and cutting remarks to the rest of the group when they were travelling, the comments didn’t have the same bite, unless his target had insulted him first, something that was itself happening with less frequency. He and the Mabari also seemed to have come to a sort of truce—they never growled at each other anymore, and while the dog kept an eye on Mouse when they were in camp, he seemed content to leave it at that. Amell wasn’t sure if the changes in attitude were due to following her example, everybody getting used to each other, or an instinctual acknowledgement that the Blight took precedence over internal squabbling, but as long as it was a reduction of conflict, she was in full support of it.

One afternoon, the group encountered a travelling merchant, and they stopped to peruse the wares and offload some of the armor and weapons they had no need of. As Amell was peering into the cart, looking for more ingredients for potions and poultices, something caught her eye. Tucked into the far corner of a shelf were four books. Squinting at the titles, she saw that two of them were novels, one was a book meant to help archers improve their skills, and one was a book about the history of the Chantry. She considered for a moment, glanced over at Mouse (who was standing at a distance, talking to Shale) then pointed to the history book. “How much?”

In the end, they spent three gold pieces and gained back one, thanks to their impressive and slightly disturbing amount of weaponry. They moved on from the merchant with lighter packs and raised morale. As a result, there was a lot of banter for the rest of the day’s journey, though Amell was only partially aware of it. Her thoughts kept drifting to the book in her pack, and she looked forward to the evening with a combination of excitement and nerves.

That night, after a lively discussion about instinct versus learned experience, Amell asked Mouse “Do you actually sleep when you go in your tent? I know you can sleep, thanks to your illness, but do you feel the need to do so most of the time?”

Obviously a little surprised by the turn in the conversation, Mouse replied “Generally not. Perhaps it’s due to the way demons are, but I don’t tend to feel tired. The human body I inhabit still responds to things like hard terrain or,” he grimaced, “cold air, but it seems to have lost the need for things like sleep, food, or water. I’m glad to be off my feet after a long day of walking, and if it’s been a particularly long day, I may doze off for an hour or two, but that’s all I seem to need. Besides, I’d rather encounter the Fade as little as possible.”

Amell nodded. “And can you actually move in your tent after I’m done casting all the protective spells, or are you completely frozen in place?”

“I can move around a little, though it takes some effort. Mostly I just maneuver myself into a comfortable position and wait until morning. Why are you asking me this now?”

Amell reached into her pack and pulled out the book, presenting it to him. “Because I wanted to know if you’d be able to actually use this to pass the time during the night.”

Mouse took the book, looking from it to her with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. “What’s this all about?”

“There’s only so much I know on the subjects we talk about,” Amell said, “I thought, if you wanted to continue your education, you should learn from different sources. And since you’re stuck in your tent for several hours at a time, that seems like a prime opportunity to do so.”

“And there’s no other motivation in doing this?” Mouse said, still sounding skeptical.

“No. I’ve given things to the others just because I thought they’d enjoy them and to offer them a little morale boost. This is no different.”

“But I’m bound to you. By definition, that makes things different.”

“In some respects, yes, but not in all of them. At this point, I’d say you’re pretty much a member of my team. You’re just here under slightly different circumstances.”

Mouse expression remained wary. Amell sighed and shook her head. “If it makes you feel better, I’m going to insist that you give me the book back in the morning. I still don’t trust you to carry any sort of supplies.”

Mouse chuckled dryly before giving her his familiar smirk. “That helps somewhat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like to retire and start reading?”

“Yes, I believe I would.”

Amell gestured to his tent. “On your way, then. I’ll even give you two minutes to get comfortable before I start casting the spells.”

“How generous.” Mouse said, though there was a playfulness to his tone. Nodding to her, he entered the tent, and true to her word, Amell counted down two minutes before she cast the first glyph.

In the morning, Mouse presented her with the book. “Very interesting so far,” was all he said, “I hope you’ll allow me to continue reading it.”

“I don’t see why not,” Amell said, “I’m not going to discourage you from learning. And if you decide you want to try to kill or betray us, I’m not exactly going to be punishing you via withholding something you want.”

Mouse smiled. “Fair enough.” Amell gave him a faint smile in return before she tucked the book away and started dismantling the tents. As she did so, she decided that she’d keep looking for books to purchase or trade for whenever she got the opportunity. If it kept Mouse agreeable, it was worth the money and extra weight.

***

The group was about a day’s travel from the Brecilian Forest when they were attacked by bandits. As usual, the ten of them were able to defeat them with relative ease, but just as they were leaving the area, Wynne abruptly collapsed. When Amell hurried over to her, Wynne waved away any offer of assistance and stood up. “I’m all right,” she said, “Though I wasn’t certain for a moment there.”

“What happened?” Amell asked, “Are you injured?”

“Not exactly.” Wynne said. She was silent for a moment, then she sighed. “I’ll explain everything once we make camp.”

Amell wasn’t entirely happy with the evasion, but at least she was going to get answers. She nodded and started to turn, when Wynne said something she’d never expected to hear from the older woman.

“While it would be best if our conversation was private…I suppose it would be a good idea for Mouse to hear it as well. But you must order him to silence on this matter.”

Taken aback, Amell simply said “All right. Come to our tents this evening.” and returned to the group, assuring them that Wynne was fine. She didn’t say anything to Mouse, not wanting to pique his curiosity and possibly call attention to what was going on. He’d find out what was going on soon enough, as would she.

A few hours later, the party arrived at the edge of the forest, and decided to wait until morning to venture inside and try to find the elves. They set up camp, and Amell made her usual rounds, since she didn’t want to arouse suspicion in anyone. Returning to her fire, she sat across from Mouse and asked what he wanted to learn about tonight, trying not to glance across the way at Wynne’s tent and give the game away.

She should have known better than to try to fool Mouse, though. “You seem distracted. Is there something wrong?”

“No. I’m just…waiting for something.”

“And what would that be?”

Amell was spared from answering when Wynne approached and sat down on a nearby stone. Amell nodded to her. “What’s this all about?”

Wynne sighed, like she had that afternoon. “There’s something you both should know. Consider it a warning…and an apology.”

Amell and Mouse glanced at each other, equally confused. “What do you mean?” Amell asked.

Wynne gave Mouse a brief look, then focused all her attention on Amell as she explained. During the demon attack on the tower, before Amell and the others had arrived and met her, Wynne had fought off a demon to protect one of the other mages. The exertion had been too much for her, and she’d nearly died. But just before the end, a presence had entered her body and brought her back. She said the presence was one of the benevolent spirits of the Fade, one that was keeping her alive and giving her a boost to her magic. But doing so was weakening the spirit as well. “While I believe it has the strength to help me see our fight against the Archdemon through to the end, there will be times when I falter. I thought it best that you know.” Wynne finished.

Amell nodded automatically, her mind still processing everything. Then Mouse spoke up, disbelief in his voice.

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve spent all these months glaring daggers at me and calling me an abomination, when you’ve been one yourself this whole time?”

Wynne finally made eye contact with him. “Why do you think I’ve kept my distance? I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to sense the spirit’s presence inside me and use that knowledge against me. Besides, you were a reminder of what I had become, and while I can now accept the differences, it took me some time to come to terms with it.”

“Is that why you’re letting him know now?” Amell asked.

“Partially,” Wynne said, “I thought it would be better if he—you—was told about it directly instead of discovering it. It gives you less to use against me.”

“The others still don’t know.” Mouse pointed out.

“I will tell them in time,” Wynne replied, “But I wanted to tell our leader first. Both because you deserve to know, and as a trial run for revealing it to the rest of the group. They say the second time is much easier than the first. In the meantime, please keep this to yourselves until I find a good opportunity and a smoother way to tell the story.”

Amell looked at Mouse. “You heard her, Mouse. This is important to her, so I’m swearing you to secrecy.”

“As you command.” Mouse said with a slight sigh.

“Thank you, both of you,” Wynne said, “I hope this won’t change the way you look at me too much.”

“As long as you’re as committed to fighting this Blight as I am, I don’t think I have any room to complain.” Amell assured her with a smile.

“I’m afraid my opinion of you _has _changed,” Mouse said, smiling slyly, “I’m more impressed by you now.”

“I’m so glad,” Wynne said dryly, “Earning your respect was something I always wanted to accomplish.”

“Naturally,” Mouse replied, “Though I doubt you’ll be returning the favor any time soon.”

“It is doubtful, yes,” Wynne said, “But not impossible. You _did _help fight that dragon in Haven, and you’ve been learning about the good of humanity instead of focusing wholly on its evils. Perhaps there is some capacity for goodness in you.”

Mouse blinked at her, and Amell realized he was genuinely taken aback by her words. The look of bafflement didn’t last long, though, and Mouse quickly smirked again. “Surely you remember your teachings? Demons are pure evil.”

“Teachings are sometimes amended when new information and experiences comes to light,” Wynne replied, “It can take some adjusting to, but I have always tried to be open-minded to change.”

Mouse just raised an eyebrow at her, and Amell decided it was probably wise to change the subject, or at least to shift it slightly. “Speaking of teaching, I believe Mouse would benefit from perspectives other than my own. Since we seem to have reached a truce of sorts, perhaps you’d be willing to help? I doubt either of you are inclined to do much speaking to each other, but if you have any books in your possession you’d be willing to lend him, we’d both be grateful.”

“I believe I have a few that would be of interest,” Wynne said, “Let me go through my things, and I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” Amell said, “Thank you.”

Wynne nodded and stood up from the rock. As she was brushing off her robes, Mouse muttered;

“Yes, thank you.”

It was Amell’s turn to be taken aback, though Wynne gave no indication that she’d heard, finishing her dusting and then heading back to her tent. Amell gave Mouse a look, who met her eye and shrugged. “If she’s foolish enough to trust me, even a little, I might as well encourage it. Now then, based on everything that’s just happened, I believe the lesson for tonight should revolve around keeping secrets and the practice of ‘white lies’, don’t you?”


	7. Underground Dirt-Digging

While getting the elves to join in the fight against the impending Blight took longer than expected (thanks to having to negotiate with werewolves, of all things), the alliance was eventually secured. That just left one group—the dwarves—to deal with, and based on the rumors Amell and the others had been hearing during their travels, they weren’t going to have an easy time there either. It sounded like there was some sort of succession crisis (not entirely dissimilar to what was going on in Denerim, as Alistair dryly pointed out), and there was no guarantee that they’d even manage to enter the city of Orzammar. Though Mouse had a slightly different concern.

“We have to go back into the Frostback Mountains to reach the surface entrance,” he said, peering over Amell’s shoulder as she considered her map one evening, “And after my last experience there, I’d rather not go back, especially since we’re in the middle of winter.”

“In other circumstances, I’d be happy to let the dwarves sort things out before approaching them,” Amell said, “But we’ve seen an increasing number of darkspawn during our hikes, and we’ve been getting similar reports from other travellers. The Blight is coming, and soon. The more help we can get, the better, and everything I’ve read said that dwarven warriors would be a good asset.”

Mouse muttered what sounded like a curse. “Maybe it won’t be as bad this time,” Amell said, “You’ve got a cloak to keep out the cold now, and I’d be willing to let you burrow in my shoulder if the temperatures got too low for you. Besides, you’ve been handling the cool air pretty well ever since you recovered.”

“It’s different down here,” Mouse replied, “The cold isn’t as sharp, and there isn’t any snow. Maybe it’s the higher altitude that makes things worse.”

“Let’s just push through as best we can,” Amell said, folding her map, “Hopefully we won’t be there long. And on the bright side, there’s an actual path to Orzammar, so not only will the walks be less strenuous, but we should be able to cover more ground in a day.”

Mouse didn’t seem particularly comforted. Amell gave him a sympathetic nod and handed him his evening reading (a book on the royal family of Ferelden that Wynne had lent them). “If all else fails, you can try to stay in the middle of the group while we’re walking. Maybe being surrounded by body heat will help.” He gave her a dubious look but didn’t argue, instead taking the book and disappearing inside the tent, Amell giving him a minute or two before casting the glyphs.

It took the group a good two weeks to reach the Frostbacks, and even with the path, it looked like it would take another week to reach the entrance to Orzammar. Undaunted, they started heading upwards, after fortifying themselves against the cold as much as possible.

Even with her increased Warden temperature, Amell could see what Mouse meant. While there wasn’t any snow around (yet), it did feel noticeably colder as they moved upwards, even when there wasn’t a wind blowing through. Still convinced there was a chance the journey would be easier this time around, she encouraged everyone to push on, but to remain relatively close to each other to keep each other a little warmer.

On the first day in the mountains, Mouse gamely kept pace with them, though he still complained about the cold and sat close to the fire during their evening conversation. On the second day, the complaining increased, and he decided not to converse that night, preferring to read in his tent. On the third day, his voice became noticeably deeper and a little blocked, but despite the significant looks he threw her way, Amell tried to ignore it, passing it off as a product of being out in the cold air for hours on end. It wasn’t that she was uncaring about his condition, but she still wanted to hope for the best. It would be better for all of them if Mouse didn’t fall ill again, and she didn’t want him to be proven right. Once he recovered, he wouldn’t let her live it down.

When she woke up on the morning of the fourth day, though, she knew it wasn’t to be. As she started to dispell the glyphs around his tent, she heard a sharp “_Kishhhew!_” from inside it, and sighed deeply. When Mouse emerged, cloak and book clutched to his chest with one hand and handkerchief pressed to his nose with the other, Amell shook her head at him. “When did that start?”

“Last night,” Mouse answered, “Though my nose started itching yesterday afternoon.”

Amell reached out for Mouse’s forehead, which caused him to pull back in surprise. “I’m just trying to see if you have a fever,” she explained, “While you feel cold, your skin will be warmer than usual if you’re really sick.”

Mouse still looked uncertain, but allowed her to reach out again. She put her hand to his head, felt the heat coming off it, and withdrew her hand with another sigh. “Unfortunately, you do seem to be sick.”

“Of course I am,” Mouse said, giving her a withering look, “Why would I fake something so unpleasant?”

Amell actually smiled at that; despite being a demon, Mouse was surprisingly unfamiliar with a lot of different facets of lying. “We can discuss that at one of our fireside lessons. At the moment, though, we need to try to avoid a repeat of what happened last time. It’s possible you’ll still take a long time to recover, but I’m pretty sure our forcing you to keep pace with us exacerbated matters.”

“What do you suggest?” Mouse said, “I know all of you want to push on to Orzammar, so waiting until I recover isn’t an option.”

“We do what we should have done last time,” Amell said, “You shapeshift into a mouse and get carried by me until you recover.”

Mouse nodded. “I think I can put up with that mild indignity if it keeps my suffering to a minimum.” As if to prove his point, he sneezed again. “_Hep-tchhh!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said, holding out her hand, “Give me the book and your handkerchiefs, and then you can transform and we can get underway.”

Mouse obligingly handed the items over, then changed forms with the usual flash of light. Amell crouched down and lifted him up, using her other hand to open the pouch in her shoulderpiece. Mouse immediately scurried inside, curling up near the entrance so the fur wouldn’t irritate his nose. Amell slipped a fresh handkerchief inside with him. “Comfortable?”

“As much as I can be,” Mouse said, “Go on, get moving. You have a hard day’s journey ahead of you.” Amell gave him a wry smile before standing up and dismantling the tents.

***

Another three days of walking brought the group to the entrance of Orzammar. To Amell’s relief, most of her predictions had proved correct. While the journey had still required climbing, it hadn’t been anywhere near as arduous, and there was barely any trace of snow or ice. And while Mouse still had a fever, it had never become high enough to require medicine (something she suspected everyone was grateful for). Perhaps they were finally encountering some good luck after everything they had gone through up to this point.

Or maybe it was just a respite. While the Grey Warden documents were enough to get them into the dwarven city, it quickly became apparent that they’d stepped into something far more complex than poisoned Arls, a war between forest dwellers, or an assault by demons. There was indeed a fight about who would be the next king, and unless Amell and the others helped settle it, the dwarves would be too busy in-fighting to contribute troops to stand against the Blight. Gritting her teeth, Amell agreed to help.

As she was discussing matters with her team, trying to figure out who to support, she heard a voice come from her shoulder. “It sounds like you need someone to do a little scouting for you.”

Amell immediately opened the pouch and looked at Mouse. “What do you mean?”

Mouse climbed out and perched on her shoulder. “I mean that like us demons, you mortals often hide who you really are from the public. If someone was to observe them when they’re alone or with their trusted subordinates, perhaps we could get a better sense of their characters, and thus, how they would act as kings.”

“Are you sure you’re up for doing that?” Amell asked, admittedly intrigued by the idea.

“If you’re worried about my health, don’t be. This isn’t exactly strenuous work, so I shouldn’t make myself too much worse. Besides, the lava surrounding the city is warming me up nicely.”

“There’s still a chance you’ll get caught.”

“I’m not worried,” Mouse said, “If I keep to the shadows, I doubt anyone will take any notice of me.”

“Yes, but there’s also the little matter of your…”

Even as Amell was speaking, she saw Mouse’s nose and whiskers twitch, and pulled the handkerchief from the shoulder pouch and held it in front of him. He grabbed a corner with his paws and pressed his nose into it. “_Itchh! Kittch! Kishee!_”

“…Sneezing.” Amell finished, pointedly lowering the handkerchief.

Mouse let out a tiny sniff. “I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, my sneezes in this form are generally soft enough that most people don’t notice them.” He looked at the rest of the group. “At least, I imagine that that’s the case, since none of you ever seem to remark on them when I’m like this. And I highly doubt that’s due to politeness.”

“True,” Zevran said with a chuckle, “Though in circumstances like this, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Tell me, has our illustrious Grey Warden taught you about stifling?”

Amell was pretty sure she and Mouse blinked uncomprehendingly at him at the same time. Zevran made eye contact with her and shrugged. “Assassins need to learn to move quietly, after all. And you never know where you’ll find the best opportunity to strike. Perhaps it will be in a dusty building, or a hold full of spices. Or even on a dark and rainy road.”

Amell gave a faint half-laugh. “I guess you’ve got a point. If you’re willing to teach him and Mouse is willing to learn, you two go off somewhere inconspicuous and practice. The rest of us will do what we can to gather information about Bhelen and Harrowmont.”

“Actually…” Leliana said, causing everybody to turn and start staring at her, “I believe I should assist with the lessons as well. I, too, have been in a line of work where it’s best to be discreet. And I would never want to interrupt a Chantry service if I could help it.”

Amell shook her head in mild disbelief. “Go on then, if you think it’ll help. Anyone else have experience in these matters? Was stifling part of Templar training too, Alistair?”

“Ironically, I must have been ill the day they taught us that particular skill.” Alistair said with a slight smile.

“All right then, let’s leave those three to their training,” Amell said, pulling out a fresh handkerchief and passing it to Zevran before carefully handing Mouse off to Leliana, “And I want all three of you on your best behavior. Please don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“You think so little of us?” Zevran said, putting a hand to his chest in mock pain, “I assure you, no one will even notice us!”

“We’re outsiders in a small city who are several heads taller than the inhabitants. I’m pretty sure we’ve been noticed. Let’s just try for ‘not suspicious’.”

Zevran grinned and gave a semi-salute with his hand before he and Leliana started moving towards the entrance to Dust Town. “Well then, now that I’ve sent them off on the strangest mission ever, let’s try to return to something more normal. Alistair, Wynne, and I will see if they’ll let us learn more about Bhelen and Harrowmont in this Shaperate, while the rest of you make inquiries around the rest of the city. We’ll meet outside sometime this evening.”

Everyone nodded their agreement (well, the dog barked and wagged his tail) and they quickly split up. Amell was soon lost in piles of books, cross-checking the exploits of the two contenders with other material about what dwarves considered to be good or noble. She kept a vague ear out for sounds of trouble, but her focus was on her work.

Four hours later, Amell had more of a sense of dwarven values, but was no closer to making a decision. When the Shaper of Memories told them that they were closing for the day, Amell obligingly returned the books, stretched the kinks out of her shoulders and back, then left with Alistair and Wynne, comparing notes. As they hadn’t gained anyone’s trust inside the city yet, they’d have to make camp outside, so the three of them left the city to find the others and start setting things up.

Morrigan and the Mabari were already outside, having made no headway in the Diamond Quarter. Shale and Sten came back just as Amell was placing the last peg for her tent, reporting that they’d spent their time in the Proving area. They’d had a little more success in talking to people, although a lot of the dwarves had been more interested in asking questions of Shale than in answering questions. Still, it seemed that the dwarves appreciated Bhelen’s strength and drive, while Harrowmont’s positive qualities seemed to be steadfastness and quiet authority. Amell nodded and jotted down some notes, hoping reading them over before bed would allow her mind to absorb all the information during the night and help her reach a decision in the morning.

Leliana, Zevran, and Mouse (who was hiding in one of Zevran’s pouches) didn’t appear until nearly an hour later, by which point dinner was nearly ready. “Took you long enough.” Amell said, “I was starting to get worried. I wouldn’t have thought learning to sneeze silently would have required so much time to learn.”

“We thought it best to try to ask some questions in-between practicing,” Leliana explained, “It takes a while to get the dwarves who live there to open up…”

“Though a bit of coin helps with that.” Zevran chimed in.

“…And then it takes about the same amount of time to disentangle yourself from the conversation.” Leliana finished, giving Zevran a look of fond exasperation.

“What did you learn?” Amell said, pulling out her papers again and looking at them intently, charcoal at the ready.

It seemed that the Casteless (the primary inhabitants of Dust Town) didn’t have much to say about Harrowmont, but were of two minds when it came to Bhelen. Half of them thought Bhelen was a hero, someone who would change their lives for the better, while the others seemed all too happy to report the rumors that he was conniving and willing to resort to all sorts of dirty tricks to get what he wanted. The new information did seem to fit with what Sten and Shale had learned, but that didn’t mean that Harrowmont was any better. It was starting to look like Mouse’s suggestion might be more useful than Amell had first thought. Speaking of which…

Amell turned her attention to Mouse, who had climbed out of Zevran’s pouch and settled himself by the fire during the report. “And how did the lessons go? Did our rogues pass their skills on to you?”

“Let me up on your shoulder and you can judge for yourself.” Mouse answered, with a wry tone that suggested he would be smiling if he was in his human form.

Amell obligingly picked him up and opened the pouch for him, but instead of climbing inside, he stood on her fingers and rubbed his face against her shoulderpiece. It didn’t take long before he pulled away, nose and whiskers quivering. He closed his eyes, tensed his body, and then…

“_Ttt!_”

If it hadn’t been right by her ear, Amell was near-positive she wouldn’t have heard him. “You’re a fast learner,” she said, “Though I want to be absolutely sure you won’t be noticed. One more time, please.”

Mouse rolled his eyes, but obligingly passed his face across her pauldron again. When she saw the nose twitch, she carefully lifted him off her shoulder and set him in her lap, watching and listening carefully. She also had the distinct impression everyone else was following suit.

Once again, Mouse closed his eyes and tensed his body, but while his whole body did quiver a little as he stifled the sneeze, Amell couldn’t hear a thing. “Good work,” she said, smiling at Leliana and Zevran as she pulled out a fresh handkerchief and offered it to Mouse, “All of you.”

“I presume this means you’re willing to trust me with a scouting mission?” Mouse asked.

Amell nodded. “You have to report accurately on what you’ve seen, and aren’t allowed to take any unnecessary risks, but if you’re willing, we’d be grateful for the help.”

Mouse nodded back. “Just get me inside either the palace or Harrowmont’s estate tomorrow, and leave the rest to me. I’ll return to you in the evening with my report.”

“Where should I meet you?”

Mouse considered. “Based on what little I saw of the Diamond Quarter, there’s an area with a weapons rack relatively close to both buildings. That seems like the best place.”

“All right. For now, get some rest. I need you alert for tomorrow. Wynne, do you have the ingredients for the decongestant they made in the Circle? Mouse is going to need every advantage he can.”

“Does it taste as bad as the fever reducer?” Mouse asked as Wynne started looking through her bags.

“It’s better, though it’s still not exactly pleasant.”

“Good. Otherwise, I’d have tried to beg off and take my chances. But then I suppose you wouldn’t allow that, would you?”

“No,” Amell answered with a slight smile. “This is too important. Besides, being caught due to a sneeze would be quite the undignified way to lose an ally, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it would, at that.” Mouse said with a chuckle, before abruptly breaking it off to tense for another sneeze. “Ugh,” he said with a sniff, pawing at his nose before pulling a bit of the handkerchief towards him, “Useful as this stifling may be, I think I’ll return to a more normal way of sneezing after this. It just leaves me sore and my nose blocked, and it takes longer for the itch to subside.”

“Fair enough.” Amell said, laughing softly. There was a brief silence as she lifted him back to her shoulder so he could return to his pouch, and then she said;

“I appreciate your taking this risk. Even more so because I probably never would have thought of it on my own.”

“I’m happy to be of use,” Mouse replied, settling himself into a comfortable position, “Especially when it proves you’re still capable of underestimating me.” Amell just gave him a look before removing her fingers and leaving him to rest.

The next day, after dosing Mouse with the decongestant, Amell, Alistair (as Grey Wardens) and Shale (as a golem and therefore a somewhat familiar sight to the dwarves) paid a visit to the royal palace on the pretense of wanting to get more details about the whole royal family. While they were waiting to be received, Amell stepped behind Shale, pulled Mouse from her shoulder, and set him into a shadowy corner. “Good luck.” she murmured. Mouse nodded, then quickly moved off. Amell turned her attention back to fact-gathering, trying not to glance to the sides during her conversation with Bhelen’s representative. Mouse had a tough enough job ahead of him without her giving the game away. Once they were dismissed (none too politely), they returned to the Shaperate to continue gathering facts that way. But while Amell was able to concentrate and absorb the words in front of her, she would have admitted if asked that she was a little tense, always keeping an ear out for some sort of commotion. Thankfully, the dwarves apparently noticed nothing out of the ordinary, because nobody came to accuse them of anything. When the Shaperate closed for the evening, Amell took a turn around the Diamond Quarter on the pretense of stretching her legs, walking as casually as she could to the place Mouse had mentioned the night before.

Mouse was already there waiting for her, and Amell sat on a bench, looking over her notes, waiting for him to clamber up next to her. When she felt soft fur brush against her hand, she carefully picked him up, placed him on top of her papers, then pulled them close to her body. “We’ll talk once we’re outside.” she said quietly, then stood up and started moving towards the exit. Mouse didn’t protest, though she did feel his claws dig into her robes to keep himself steady.

As soon as they were out of the city and away from the eyes of the guards, Amell lowered the papers and gently curled her hand around Mouse, pulling lightly to encourage him to loosen his grip. “So?” she asked.

“Bheled’s a _twhotwaefle_.” Mouse answered immediately, releasing his hold on her robes and letting Amell lift him to her shoulder.

“A what?” Amell asked, wondering if that was a dwarven term she was unfamiliar with.

“Forgive be,” Mouse said with a hoarse chuckle, and Amell realized his voice was thick with congestion, “Id’s ad old Fade insult. I couldn’t think of a better word to describe hib with.”

Amell tugged a bit of handkerchief out of the shoulder pouch. “The rumors of the Casteless were true, then?”

Mouse didn’t answer immediately, but the pause was explained a moment later. “_Kipshh! TIKCHH!_” Then there was a small squawking noise, followed by a sigh of relief. “I needed that. I’ve been feeling like there was a heavy weight in my nose for the past five hours.”

“Are you all right?”

“A little chilled now what I’m outside, but I’m fine. And I never came close to being caught, so you don’t have to worry about anyone suspecting you.”

“Well done,” Amell said, “But you still need to explain why Bhelen’s a…whatever you said. That’s the entire reason you went through this, after all.”

Mouse quickly explained that Bhelen had spent the day having meetings with a variety of dwarves from all walks of life, and either bribing or blackmailing them to support him or discredit Harrowmont, or in a few cases, both. Once he’d finished his report (they’d reached the camp by this time, so the rest of the team were listening in), Amell sighed. “Well, on the one hand, he doesn’t sound particularly pleasant. On the other, the history books I’ve read suggest that most political figures aren’t above playing dirty to stay in power. Harrowmont may be just as bad. We’ll need to find out for sure tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that you’re up for it.” she said to Mouse.

“Don’t worry about me,” Mouse said, “Like I said, this isn’t particularly challenging or taxing. All I have to do is watch and listen.”

“It’s still risky,” Amell pointed out, “But if you’re willing and able, we’ll see what Harrowmont’s up to, and then we can start making forward progress again.” The others all seemed happy with that thought, and they all retired to bed shortly thereafter.

The next day played out much the same as before. Mouse drank a decongestant in the morning and was left in a corner inside Harrowmont’s estate while Amell discussed things with Harrowmont’s representative. Amell spent the afternoon in the Shaperate, learning as much as she could while bracing herself for possible discovery. And that evening, Amell went to the meeting place, though this time, Mouse wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her heartbeat quickened, but she sat down and started looking through her notes, trying to stay calm. She couldn’t hear any sort of commotion from inside Harrowmont’s house, so perhaps Mouse was just having trouble making his way outside. If he wasn’t out within an hour, _then _she’d start to worry. That didn’t keep the vise off her heart, but it at least kept panic at bay.

Twenty minutes later, she felt something nudge her ankle. Glancing down, her shoulders dropped in relief when she saw a flash of brown and a hint of a long, hairless tail. She let a few papers fall off her lap, and when she bent to pick them up, Mouse was sitting on top of them, giving her a quick nod. Gathering them up, she repeated the routine from the previous day. This time, though, she thought she could feel little tremors coming from the area Mouse was clinging to, tremors that she didn’t think were being caused by him swaying with her movement.

Once they were at a safe distance, she reached down and grasped Mouse, confirming her suspicions; he _was_ shaking, though given the heat of Orzammar, she couldn’t judge if he had a fever or not. “Are you all right?” she asked, bringing him to her shoulder and withdrawing a bit of the handkerchief in advance.

Mouse responded with a sharp sneeze, louder than they usually were in this form. “_IKTSHH!_” After another squeaking noise, he answered “Harrowmont seems to enjoy standing by the fire. I had to hide in a far corner that had a crack in the wall. That wall must be close to the surface, because I kept feeling drafts of cold air. Even before the decongestant wore off, my nose kept running and…_itchhh!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said sympathetically, “I promise, you can stay in my shoulderpiece for as long as you need to recover after this. Just tell me what you saw and then I’ll let you rest.”

Mouse’s report on Harrowmont was a little more favorable. He wasn’t doing anything openly underhanded, and his plans to gain support seemed to be about currying favor more than attacking Bhelen. There was still a chance Harrowmont was corrupt, but between the two candidates, he seemed to be the better choice. Or at least, a candidate Amell wouldn’t feel slightly dirty about supporting.

After putting it to a vote with the rest of her team, Harrowmont won by a clear majority. “It’s decided, then,” Amell said, opening the pouch on her shoulder to let Mouse warm up, “Starting tomorrow, we pledge our loyalty to Harrowmont and do what we can to get him on the throne. And then perhaps we can finally turn our attention to Ferelden’s throne.”


	8. Deep Roads Revelations

Initially, supporting Harrowmont was reasonably simple. Or rather, it involved doing things Amell and her party had become familiar with, which basically boiled down to fighting things. But then things took a turn. Harrowmont needed them to track down someone named Branka, who had taken a party into the Deep Roads. Amell had heard of the Deep Roads before; Alistair had told her that all Grey Wardens that lived long enough would wind up there as part of something called The Calling. She wasn’t thrilled to be going down there, but she tried to console herself with the thought that it might be useful when the time came to go there to meet her fate. Still, she decided not to bring Alistair with her as part of the small party that was allowed to pass into the Roads; the fewer people distracted by impending doom, the better.

Instead of Alistair, Amell had brought Shale, Zevran, and a dwarf called Oghren, who said he was Branka’s husband and could help find her. Mouse was there too, of course, though he spent the first few days in Amell’s pauldron, recovering from his cold. At least, she thought it took a few days—there was no way to tell the passage of time in the Deep Roads. The party just stopped and made a camp whenever they (which generally meant Amell and Zevran) were too exhausted to continue. All she knew was that as she woke up for the third time, Mouse climbed out of the pouch, jumped to the ground, and told her he thought he was ready to resume his human form again. Amell was more than happy to have another set of eyes to be on the lookout for darkspawn or other enemies, and even gave him permission to use magic against threats (making sure he wouldn’t be able to attack her, Zevran, Oghren, and Shale, of course). Mouse seemed pleased with the arrangement, and was even happier when Amell decided she’d let him use his mouse form to scout ahead, and then kill any enemies he found, assuming he felt comfortable enough to take them on alone. She had initially been worried he would underestimate his abilities and be overwhelmed, but apparently he was aware enough of his limitations, because there was never an incident where they had to come to his aid. Sometimes he came back in need of a healing poultice, but based on the bodies they’d find as they proceeded, he only attacked groups of three to four darkspawn (and even then, not if they had mages or overly strong soldiers), or the little creatures known as deepstalkers. If he spotted anything else, he’d return to the group and tell them what they were facing. Amell made sure to thank him or say “good work” each time, wanting to encourage him to keep being helpful.

And so they proceeded slowly through the Deep Roads, though the slow pace was due less to caution or constant battles and more due to the sheer size of the place. There were so many paths—some dwarven made, some created due to collapsing tunnels—that it was easy to get turned around. It was almost a relief when they were forced to fight something, because the bodies could be used as a point of reference. About the only bright spots to be found were that the Roads were surprisingly well lit, perhaps due to the lava that had been channeled to flow alongside the main roads, and that the aforementioned lava made things warm instead of cold. Zevran did his best to keep morale up with glib comments, but it was clear that none of them really wanted to be down here, especially as the “days” dragged on.

Even worse, it seemed the more progress they made, the more unpleasant things got. They managed to get hold of one of Branka’s journals…but not before battling huge, poisonous spiders and getting to see firsthand what darkspawn corruption did to someone. They entered a place that was much more open and with fewer dead end paths…but they got a glimpse of not only the Archdemon, but the army it was amassing to attack the surface. They got another lead on Branka…but it came at the price of learning far too much about how darkspawn were created. By the time the group actually came across Branka, Amell was under the impression they were all close to the end of their ropes. She was exhausted, sore and felt a tightening around her heart every time they needed to round a corner, unsure what new horror would await them. Zevran still cracked jokes, but it felt like he was doing it just because he was expected to, and he’d stopped commentating on the thrill of the fight or the satisfaction of a job well done. It was hard to fully get a read on Oghren, since Amell wasn’t as familiar with him, but he was taking deeper and deeper draughts from the flagon he kept by his side, and his voice seemed to be getting angrier and more frustrated whenever they took stock of their situation. Even Shale and Mouse seemed like they were getting sick of constant fighting and confusing environments. At this point, there were only two things Amell could suggest as a motivation to keep going. One, once they finally got Harrowmont on the throne and returned to the surface, she’d find some way to reward the others for suffering through this with her. And two, the sooner they got Branka to help them, the sooner they could get out of here.

Of course, it couldn’t possibly be that simple. Branka refused to help unless they helped her out first, and said help required going through a series of challenges that were even more difficult than the Gauntlet in the temple at Haven (or at the very least, there were fewer tests of intellect and a _lot _more fighting). It all culminated in a huge battle between them, four golems, and a dwarf who occasionally just shrugged off Amell’s spells. By that point, though, Amell was running on pure adrenaline and determination, and thanks to having encountered some lyrium veins prior to the fight, knew she had enough potions to see the fight through. Not that that made the fight any easier.

Midway through the carnage, Amell’s freezing spell once again failed to affect the crazed dwarf, and before she could cast another spell or move away, the dwarf had slammed into her with a shield, knocking her to the ground. A moment later, all the air was driven out of her lungs as the dwarf brought the edge of the shield down onto her stomach. The pain was so strong that she couldn’t move, much less cast anything. She could see the dwarf preparing for another attack, and all she could do was brace herself.

Then there was a crinkling noise, like the cracking of ice, and the dwarf was frozen in place. Amell found enough strength to roll to the side, quickly casting a healing spell on herself. When she looked up, she saw Mouse nod his head at her before shooting a blast of fire at one of the golems. Getting to her feet with a grimace (the damage may have been healed, but the pain still lingered), Amell turned her attention back to the frozen dwarf, preparing a lightning bolt as payback.

In the end, their enemies lay dead on the ground, and while they couldn’t bring Branka back to Orzammar, they did have a crown they could present to Harrowmont. After a quick detour for Shale’s sake (after all the golem had done for Amell, she wasn’t so heartless to deny a chance for it to learn about its past), they started navigating their way back through the tunnels and old roads. While it still required quite a few “days” of travel, the journey back didn’t feel quite as arduous. Maybe it was because they had some idea of where they were going, or because they knew they were close to leaving the Deep Roads. Though it could also have been because they had a lot fewer instances of needing to stop and kill things.

And then they reached the Ortan Thaig.

Just as the party passed over a bridge, they were attacked by a pack of darkspawn. Compared to some of the things they’d fought, the genlocks went down easily. In fact, most of them were stunned into submission merely by Shale smashing the ground near them, allowing the rest of the party to cut the fiends down. But just as everyone was sheathing their weapons, Amell felt something unexpected, and very unwelcome; the electric tingling of the Fade. Turning around slowly, she saw that one of the structures near where they’d been fighting, a small plinth, had been significantly cracked. Black smoke was pouring out of the plinth, reconstituting itself into something large. When she saw the spikes and noticed a streak of purple among the black, Amell’s throat tightened.

A pride demon.

As the last of the smoke faded, the demon looked down at the plinth, then over at them. “Free at last!” it said in a deep, growling voice, “Those mages were fools to think trapping me here would be sufficient. I will punish them in time, but I am also nothing if not fair. You have cut me loose, and therefore deserve a reward. What do you wish? Gold? Power?”

Amell took her staff off her back once more. “I will not be bribed by you to let you wreak havoc in the mortal world. We have enough trouble without you making it worse.”

“Then you’re as much a fool as the other mages were,” the demon sneered, “And you’ll be crushed by me, just as they will be.”

“Oh, please!” The tone of dripping sarcasm made both Amell and the demon turn in surprise. Mouse stood before the demon, arms folded and a twisted smile on his face. “I know it’s in our nature to brag about how powerful we are, but you’ve been locked up in that altar for years, cut off from the Fade. You may be bigger and stronger than the mortals, but you aren’t as dangerous as you think you are.”

“You dare to challenge a pride demon?!”

“I do indeed,” Mouse replied, “It takes one to know one, after all.”

“You? A pride demon?” the demon said, clearly torn between amusement and bewilderment, “Then why do you stay in the company of these lesser beings?”

“Admittedly, it’s not entirely by choice,” Mouse said, “But at least _I _have been allowed to explore this world, while _you’ve _been locked away.”

The demon grinned, showing off its incredibly sharp teeth. “If you’re so much better than me, you won’t mind proving it.”

Mouse turned his head slightly, making eye contact with Amell. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes flashed, and she could see the anger and eagerness in them. He’d have strenuously denied it, but he was pleading with her to let him unleash his full power. And even though Amell knew it was dangerous, her curiosity over what it would be like to see two pride demons dueling each other won out. So she gave the faintest of nods as she said “Go on, Mouse. Show him what you’re made of. Just make sure not to hurt the rest of us in the process.”

Mouse’s smile widened, and he turned his full attention to the demon, uncrossing his arms as he did so. Amell took a few steps back, gesturing for the rest of her teammates to do the same. They’d jump in and help if Mouse needed it, but he deserved a chance to prove himself first. Amell found herself holding her breath, simultaneously nervous and eager to see Mouse change into his demonic form.

But the normal flash of light that accompanied one of Mouse’s transformations didn’t fade away. Nor did he start to change size and shape. Instead, the white light seemed to encompass him, gradually taking on a gold tinge, until his entire body was glowing. It was a striking sight, but certainly not what Amell had been expecting. Mouse didn’t seem to be expecting it either, because he stared at his hands, turning them over repeatedly. “What…”

The demon laughed, the gravelly sound causing Amell to shrink back. “So, for all your talk, you’re nothing more than an enslaved spirit. Ensnared by those egotistical upstarts from Tevinter, no doubt. I appreciate your boldness and the amusement you’ve given me, but I think it’s time you learned your place.” With that, the demon curved its clawed hand and pulled its arm back, ready to strike.

“Not this time!” Amell yelled, snapping out of her shock and hitting the demon with a Cone of Cold. It froze in place, and Amell started preparing another spell. “Hurry!” she ordered her teammates, “Take it down!”

Thanks to Shale’s fists, Oghren’s axe, Zevran managing to leap onto the demon from behind, and Amell pelting it with every slowing spell she had, the creature was defeated relatively quickly. “It seems that pride certainly does go before a fall.” Zevran quipped, which made Oghren snort. Amell smiled too, but her attention was more focused on Mouse, who hadn’t moved from where he’d been standing. He was still glowing, and he was running his hands over his body, staring down at it in disbelief. Amell approached him carefully, not wanting to startle him. Who knew what would happen if she did that.

When she was an arm’s length away from him, she called his name softly. “Mouse?”

Mouse turned to look at her, eyes wide, their mercurial blueness a stark contrast to the white-gold glow of the rest of his face and body. He swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was tinged with barely hidden panic.

“What’s_ happening _to me?”


	9. The Five Stages of Adjustment

Amell reached out and carefully laid a hand on Mouse’s shoulder, both to reassure him and to try to assess the situation. His robes felt normal under her palm, and he didn’t feel too hot or cold. But she could sense something unusual radiating from him, something that wasn’t exactly powerful in the sense of strong, but nevertheless suggested otherworldly skill and experience. “What happened?” she asked, as calmly as she could.

“I don’t know!” Mouse said, his voice rising in pitch, “I just willed myself to change into my true form, and then _this _happened!”

“And you don’t feel any different? There was nothing unusual prior to the transformation?”

Mouse shook his head. “Everything was the same until the moment I transformed. Then I felt lighter instead of stronger.”

“And you were feeling all right up until that moment? No illness or injury?”

Mouse was wringing his hands now, and Amell could feel him trembling. “No. And even if there were, I don’t think it would have mattered. I was in much worse shape the last time I turned, after all.”

Amell acknowledged the truth of his words with a nod, gently grasping his other shoulder and squeezing. “All right, Mouse, try to stay calm. We’ll get back to the surface and see if Wynne or Morrigan has any idea about what’s going on. In the meantime, turn yourself back into a mouse and stay in my pauldron. I don’t want you panicked and distracted, leading to someone getting hurt.”

Mouse exhaled hard, nodded back, and transformed himself. This time, the white light faded after the change, and when Amell picked him up to put him into her shoulderpiece, he looked the same way he always did in his mouse form. As she nudged him into the pouch, she could tell he was still shaking. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before she let the pouch close, then motioned for the rest of the team to continue on. She was just as confused as Mouse was, though more curious than scared about it, and she hoped they’d be able to find answers. First, though, they needed to make their way out of the Deep Roads and crown a king.

***

Fortunately for everyone, it only took another two days to return to Orzammar, thanks to being able to travel along the main route and only encountering a few small groups of enemies. Once they were in Orzammar proper, it took another day (and another fight) to give Harrowmont the crown and officially install him on the throne. One of his first official acts was to promise aid against the Blight, and Amell felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. A second, bigger weight was lifted when she and the others (including Oghren, who thought he might be useful to the cause) finally emerged out into fresh air for the first time in ages. When they reunited with the rest of the party, she learned they’d been down in the Deep Roads for a little over a month, which simultaneously was longer and shorter than she expected. Over dinner that night, she let Zevran be in charge of regaling the others with their adventures, with herself, Oghren, and Shale all chiming in on occasion. But thanks to a request she’d made beforehand, he left out the battle with the pride demon; she suspected Mouse wanted as few people to know as possible for the moment.

Mouse himself had remained in her pauldron during all this, partly because the dwarves had never seen him in his human form and thus might have complicated matters. Amell suspected, however, that he primarily was keeping out of sight because he was still in shock over what had happened. He’d acknowledge her if she called his name or asked if he was all right, and occasionally she’d hear him sneeze (presumably due to getting a bit of fur in his face), but mostly he stayed silent. It worried her a bit, actually; after so many months of him being quick to respond with sly remarks or often exaggerated complaints, having him be so quiet almost felt unnatural. Clearly whatever had happened with the demon had truly unnerved him.

When dinner was over and everyone dispersed to pass the time how they saw fit, Amell approached Wynne and asked her to accompany her to Morrigan’s tent. Wynne didn’t seem thrilled by this, and neither did Morrigan when she saw them approaching. “Have you come to lecture me?” she asked, rolling her eyes, “Has Wynne been reporting on my perceived misdeeds?”

“No,” Amell said, “I need the two of you to see something and possibly offer advice. Wynne’s years of reading and experience in the Circle and your growing up with Flemeth may be able to shed some light on something that happened in the Deep Roads.”

That got their attention. Amell withdrew Mouse from her shoulder and set him on the ground. “Turn human, please, Mouse. I don’t know if the same thing will happen if you try it straight from your mouse form.”

Mouse obeyed, eyes still wide and uncertain, his glance darting between the three mages. “Show them, Mouse,” Amell said gently, “It’s the only way for us to figure out what’s happening.”

Mouse took a deep breath, and then tried to transform into his pride demon form. Once again, the white flash of light encompassed his body, making him glow gold. Wynne blinked in surprise and took a step backwards, while Morrigan leaned forward, studying him intently. “This happened when he tried to change into his true form,” Amell explained, “Do either of you have any idea what this means?”

“I think I do, actually,” Morrigan said, approaching Mouse and looking at him from every angle, “It seems your servant has shed his demonic nature and become a spirit instead.”

“Is that possible?” Amell asked.

“Why not?” Morrigan replied with a shrug, “If a spirit can become corrupted and transform into a demon, why shouldn’t it work the other way?”

Amell looked Mouse over. With this new possibility in mind, she remembered what the pride demon had said; _“you’re nothing more than an enslaved spirit.”_ At the time, she’d thought it was speaking generally, but perhaps it had recognized Mouse for what he had become. And now that the idea was in her head, she realized that the golden glow around Mouse looked a lot like the one emanating from the spirit of valor she’d encountered during her Harrowing. The only difference was that Mouse wasn’t slightly translucent. “What do you think, Wynne? Could Morrigan be right?”

“I cannot know for certain, of course,” Wynne replied after a minute’s thought, “The books I’ve read on spirits have only spoken of corruption, never of reverting back. But if we mortals can sin and then return to the Maker’s path, it’s a reasonable assumption that spirits could do something similar.”

She paused again, stroking her chest. Then she said “The spirit inside me seems to agree with Morrigan’s assessment. It feels like its reaching out towards a kindred soul.”

Mouse, who had been standing still during all this, abruptly moved, holding up his hands and taking a step away from her. “Don’t!” he said, his tone harsh, but fearful instead of angry, “I don’t…I can’t possibly…”

“It’s all right, Mouse,” Amell said as soothingly as she could, “Why don’t you revert back to your human form, and we can go back to our firepit and try to talk about this?”

Mouse closed his eyes and nodded, the glow fading from his body. Amell quickly thanked Morrigan and Wynne for their help, then led the way to where her tent was. After stoking the fire and gesturing for Mouse to sit close to it to keep the chill away, she sat next to him and gave him a few minutes to think. When he didn’t seem inclined to speak, instead just sitting and looking at his hands, she said;

“Sometimes talking through your thoughts can get them straight in your head. Especially if there’s someone there to help tease them out.”

“How can I be a spirit?” Mouse burst out, “I don’t feel any different! I still think Leliana is naïve, that Alistair is a fool, and that I’m more intelligent than everybody in this camp! Those aren’t things spirits are supposed to think!”

“Are you sure?” Amell asked, “You’d know better than I would, of course, but what makes you so certain that’s how spirits are supposed to be?”

“I’ve observed them,” Mouse answered, “They always just seem content to focus on the one human trait they embody, or to try to help those who stumble across them, like Valor did for you. They don’t tend to have negative opinions about humans, or consider themselves superior.”

“Perhaps they do, and they just don’t share them openly the way demons do.”

“Perhaps,” Mouse agreed, “But there’s always been a sense that thinking that way leads to becoming a demon. I can’t explain how we know this, we just do.”

“Maybe it’s an instinct engrained in you. And while it may indeed help turn a spirit into a demon, that doesn’t mean it’s a guarantee. We mortals often think ugly thoughts, but are still decent at heart.”

Mouse ran a hand through his hair. “That still doesn’t explain how this happened,” he said, “How can a demon become a spirit?”

“The same way mortals become adults,” Amell replied, “Gradually. I know possessed mages become abominations instantaneously, but most things take a while to change. In your case, all this time you’ve spent helping us and learning about the mortal realm may have tempered your prideful instincts.” She chuckled lightly. “And it’s hard to remain completely egotistical after people have seen you learn how to use a handkerchief.”

Mouse grimaced, though whether it was from the memory or his current anxieties, Amell couldn’t say. He watched the fire for a minute, then he said;

“What you say may be true, but the discovery was still sudden. I’m different now, even if I don’t feel like I am, and I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t think you’re _that _different,” Amell said, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “You’ve lost your demon form, but you’ve only used it once since you were bound to me. Based on what you did in the Deep Roads, you still have fire and ice magic. And you can still transform into a mouse. Most people would never notice a difference.”

“_I’ll _still know,” Mouse answered, and Amell heard his voice wobble slightly, “It…it feels like I’ve lost a part of myself, and I don’t know how to compensate for the loss. It’s unnerving.”

“You’ll figure it out in time,” Amell said, squeezing his shoulder, “And I’ll try to help, if I can.”

“How can you help?” Mouse demanded, his voice sharp, “You can’t possibly understand what this is like!”

“As a matter of fact, I think I do.”

Mouse scoffed. “How?”

“I’m a mage.” Amell said simply.

“What does that have to…” he broke off abruptly. “Oh.”

Amell nodded. “The day my powers manifested was the day I knew my entire life was going to be upended. I wouldn’t be able to live a normal life, get married, or see my family again. It felt like my entire body had been hollowed out. Then there was the day when my father handed me over to the Templars and I had to say goodbye. And the day I entered the Circle and had to watch as the doors closed, locking me in permanently. And that first night alone in an unfamiliar place. And my first official day of study and having to learn the rules while being glared at by Templars.”

Mouse looked back at the fire. After a moment, he said hesitantly, “I’m…sorry. I hadn’t considered that.”

“It’s a normal reaction,” Amell assured him, “We mortals often get so caught up in our personal pain that we don’t consider what’s going on with other people until they remind us of them. It’s probably even more true for spirits.”

Mouse nodded vaguely. Amell gave him a minute to turn things over in his mind, then said;

“With all that cleared up, is there anything I can do to try to make this easier?”

“I don’t know,” Mouse answered, “This isn’t like an injury or an illness. I don’t know how one even _begins _to deal with something like this.”

“How about trying to ease into it?”

Mouse looked back at her curiously. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, the good thing about this particular problem is that it’s only really visible when you transform into your demon, now spirit, form. So I won’t ask you to ever change into it. Unlike before, though, I won’t forbid you to use it. When you feel ready to use it and explore what that means, you can do so. Though I do request that you let me know when you’re going to do it so you don’t startle me or the others.”

“That’s reasonable.” Mouse agreed.

Amell rubbed her chin, considering other ideas. “It’s probably wise if we tell the others about what’s going on, but I’ll tell them not to mock you for it. That may not stop Morrigan, but I’ll tell her not to push the issue. As for when Leliana or Wynne asks genuine questions about being a spirit, you can decide if you want to engage in the conversation or not, and I’ll back you up if you don’t feel up for it.”

Mouse nodded, and Amell could feel some of the tension leaving his shoulder. “Do I have your permission to insult them if they keep needling me?”

“If I only occasionally stopped you when you were a demon, why would that change now?” Amell replied with a slight smile, “Besides, poking at our various weak points seems to have become a sport among this group. Why leave you out of the fun?”

Mouse gave a breathy laugh at that, which Amell took as a good sign. “Any other ideas?” he asked.

“Plenty. While we’re still here in the Frostbacks, I’ll continue our normal routine. Evening conversations by the fire, giving you books to read once you retire to your tent and that you have to return in the morning, casting spells on your tent to make sure you don’t try anything funny during the night, that sort of thing. And since there’s a good chance you’re going to fall ill again as we make our way down the mountain, we’ll follow the same routine there too.”

Mouse chuckled again, clearly agreeing with her assumption. “But once we reach Redcliffe,” Amell continued, “I’ll start gradually lifting the restrictions on you. Fewer and fewer wards, allowing you to carry items, more free reign in battles. Hopefully when the time comes to face the Archdemon, you’ll have fully embraced what you are. And if you have once we’ve defeated it…I’ll break the bond and let you go.”

Mouse’s eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”

“There are still conditions,” Amell said, “I’m going to be keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t have any evil intent, in which case you’re going to have to stay yoked to me. But as long as you continue to help us defeat this Blight and are more interesting in learning about mortals instead of killing or subjugating them, then yes, I mean it.”

Mouse continued to stare at her for a few moments, a combination of disbelief and wonder on his face. Then he gave her a genuine smile, with no trace of sarcasm or malice. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Amell said, giving his shoulder another squeeze before standing up, “And now I think we should turn in for the night. We don’t want to tempt fate and expose you to the cold for too long.”

Mouse chucked again and also stood up. As they’d never put up a tent for him when they’d arrived, it was easier for him to spend the night in Amell’s pauldron (which would hopefully have the added benefit of reducing the chance of him falling ill). Within a few minutes, Amell was in her nightshirt and Mouse was tucked away in his shoulder pouch. And true to her word, Amell cast a paralysis glyph on her robes before settling down to sleep.


	10. Prison Break

After the party left Orzammar, things went relatively smoothly for a time. They still had to fend off some attacks by darkspawn and there was one encounter with a group of bandits, but with all the treaties fulfilled and the knowledge that they were about to confront Loghain about his misdeeds, things felt less overwhelming. It almost seemed to Amell that they were moving faster, covering more ground than usual. Even if it was just an illusion, she appreciated the sensation.

Everyone else seemed content as well. There were still insults and pointed questions thrown about, but they were accepted with good humor. Leliana regaled them with upbeat songs and stories, Amell’s Mabari made each of the party members throw a stick for him to fetch, and even Oghren’s bafflement and occasional contempt about the “surfacer world” was amusing, mostly due to the way he phrased his statements. Even Mouse seemed to be in good humor, though whether that was due to their progress, his impending freedom, or the fact that they were leaving the Frostbacks, Amell couldn’t say.

To absolutely no one’s surprise (not even Oghren’s), Mouse fell ill five days into the journey, though at least it had taken a little longer for the symptoms to strike this time. As soon as she heard him sneeze, Amell shook her head and held out her hand for his pouch of handkerchiefs. “Fade creatures _really _don’t like the cold, do they?”

“It seems not.” Mouse said, handing over the pouch before turning into a mouse. Once Amell had placed him in her pauldron, he continued, “Though I suppose it’s possible it’s related to the body I took over. Do you remember if he was prone to illness?”

Amell tried to think back. “I do remember some of Prescott’s friends joking that they knew when winter was coming because he tended to fall ill around the same time that the temperature started dropping. But I don’t remember him being ill multiple times in a winter.”

“Ah, so I got the worst of both worlds,” Mouse said, as she tucked a handkerchief into the pouch for him, “Perhaps the Maker was punishing me for my audacity for passing through the Veil.”

“Well, on the bright side, it only seems to really cause problems when the temperatures get too low. Just stay away from the mountains, and this shouldn’t happen as frequently.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mouse said, before pulling a corner of the handkerchief to his face, “_Hikshh! Tiktchh!_”

“Swift healing,” Amell said with a slight chuckle, closing the pouch, “And since we’re almost out of the mountains, I hope that will be particularly true in this case.”

***

Fortunately, staying in Amell’s shoulderpiece and returning to slightly milder temperatures allowed Mouse to have almost fully recovered by the time they arrived back at Redcliffe Castle. Amell did insist that he turn back into his human form when they went to greet Arl Eamon—given the previous unpleasantness the Eamons had dealt with when it came to denizens of the Fade, it was better for them to think Mouse was an ordinary mage—but since they got a few days of rest while Eamon assembled his men and prepared to head to Denerim for the Landsmeet, she didn’t think it slowed Mouse’s recovery any. It also meant that he had to get his own room instead of sharing one with her, but Amell just saw it as a chance to put her plan of lifting his restrictions into motion.

Since it would be baffling and a little suspicious if she was casting spells on one of Eamon’s rooms, Amell found some interesting looking books in the castle library and set them on Mouse’s bedside table, suggesting he take advantage of his bedrest and hoping he’d be too busy reading to get up to any trouble. During the day, she looked in on him every hour, ostensibly to check on his condition, and kept an eye and ear out for any signs of strange things happening in the castle. But Mouse seemed content to stay put and read, though he did greet her with a knowing smile whenever she poked her head in the door to his room. She returned it with a smile of her own as well as a nod, acknowledging her intent while also praising him for behaving himself. By the time they were ready to depart, Mouse was back to full strength, had read all four books Amell had lent him, and hadn’t caused any trouble. It was enough to convince her both that Mouse was sincere and that her strategy of gradually giving him more trust was working.

The trip to Denerim passed without any serious incident, and Amell’s entire party was happy to discover that they’d get to stay in Eamon’s estate instead of camping just outside the city limits. Mouse in particular was delighted to hear that the estate had a library, and was even more delighted when Amell gave him permission to spend all his free time there. Of course, they had barely settled in before things became complicated once more. First, Loghain showed up with two of his loyal minions to posture at them, and barely an hour after he’d left, a woman showed up claiming to be the maid of Anora, Loghain’s daughter and current ruler of Ferelden. She insisted that Anora had been kidnapped by Arl Howe, the more weaselly of the minions, and that Amell and the others needed to rescue her before she was killed. Amid some minor grumbling that she had to do everything around here, Amell called Mouse, Zevran, Leliana, and her dog and set out for Howe’s estate.

While they were able to get guard uniforms and enter the estate without incident, they were eventually caught out and had to resort to fighting. On the bright side, they were able to free some prisoners (including another Grey Warden), found Anora alive, and killed Howe, which appeared to ultimately be a good thing if the remarks Amell had heard from Eamon and the prisoners was any indication. With Howe dead, they were able to break Anora out of the room she was locked in, get her a guard uniform as a disguise (both Mouse and Zevran pointed out that that had worked _so _well last time, but Anora was insistent), and try to make their way out of the estate. Amell had thought it would be easier getting out than in, since they’d killed most of the guards, but someone must have run for help, because a lot of soldiers were waiting for them by the front door. They were led by Ser Cauthrien, Loghain’s other staunch supporter, and she didn’t seem particularly inclined to listen to what Amell had to say. Amell had thought that revealing that Anora had not only been kidnapped by Howe, but was actively here at this very moment to corroborate the story might have swayed the Guardswoman, but Anora accused Amell and the others of kidnapping her instead, leading to a fight. Given some of the things she’d faced, Amell had thought they could battle their way out of this situation, but the constant rain of arrows and the soldiers attacking her from all sides eventually proved too much for her, and when one of the soldiers hit her from behind with their shield, she blacked out.

***

When Amell finally came to, she made several realizations at once. First, the back of her head was still throbbing. Second, she could feel the stone floor against her bare skin. Third, her staff and pack were missing. Fourth, the air smelled foul, a combination of human waste, blood, and smoke. And fifth, she could hear the faint sounds of screaming.

Opening her eyes to take proper stock of the situation, she found herself in a prison cell, stripped of her gear, with a bearded man looking at her curiously in the next cell over. After explaining how she’d wound up here, the man told her that she was in Fort Drakon, a combination of a garrison and a prison, where she would probably be tortured and then executed. Amell considered the situation, and then made a sixth realization; the soldiers who had brought her here might have taken her staff and lyrium potions, but they had neglected to drain her mana. Clearly, none of Denerim’s “best men” had ever had Templar training. With a wicked grin, Amell decided to press the advantage.

She lay on the ground, clenching her stomach and moaning, while her fellow prisoner called for help. When a guard came in to see what the trouble was, she froze him solid with Cone of Cold, then knocked him out with Stonefist. A quick search of his armor allowed her to locate the key to the cell, and she let herself out (locking the guard in for good measure) before freeing her adjoining cellmate as a thanks for his help. Of course, she was still dressed in nothing but her smallclothes and deep inside what was almost certainly a heavily populated and armed stronghold, so while it was a satisfying first step, she needed to lay out the rest of her plan before she proceeded. Trying to get her pack back was the obvious next step, but finding where it was hidden, especially without getting caught again, was going to be difficult.

“Ah, I should have known. You’re not the sort to give up easily.”

Amell blinked in surprise before quickly scanning the ground. It didn’t take long for her to spot Mouse’s tail. He was moving towards her in an odd way, his back to her as he dragged something along the ground. She moved over to him and saw that he was clenching a string in his mouth, which was attached to a brass key. Amell knelt down and picked it up, giving Mouse a wry grin. “I take it this will help me get my things back?”

Mouse spat the taste of the string out of his mouth and nodded. “They’ve locked everything in a chest in the armory, probably with the intent of going through it later to see if there’s anything they can use.”

“Are the other three here?” Amell asked, “Are they being kept in a separate part of the prison?”

“No, they’re safe, as far as I know. The guards were more interested in the Grey Warden than her companions, so Leliana and Zevran worked together to cloak their escape, and Anora and the dog followed their lead. I, on the other hand, figured I was in an advantageous position to keep an eye on you, and followed them in this form. Fortunately, they loaded you up into a wagon instead of walking or using horses; I’m not sure I’d have been able to keep up otherwise.”

Amell picked him up and placed him on her shoulder. “Your efforts are deeply appreciated, I assure you. What am I facing out there?”

“At least two dozen soldiers and several Mabari. There’s also a room full of these large wooden devices that I’m guessing are either used for torture or weapons. Best not to pick a fight in there if you can help it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Amell said, walking towards the prison exit and wincing as Mouse dug his claws into her shoulder to steady himself, “But I’m going to have to fight my way out until I get my items back. What’s waiting for me directly outside of here?”

“One guard and two Mabari. Only time I was really worried about being caught, actually—one of the dogs barked at me and drew the guard’s attention, but I sat on the key and he called the dogs off, saying it was ‘just a mouse’.” Mouse chuckled. “Nevertheless, I decided it was best to find a hole in the wall and get to the cells that way than risk drawing further attention to myself.”

“Good work,” Amell said, gesturing to the door, “Care to help me out here? It’s best for me to keep some mana in reserve until I get my potions back, and this way you can show them how you’re more than ‘just a mouse’.”

“With pleasure.” Mouse said, letting Amell pick him up and set him down on the ground again. Several seconds later, he’d changed back into his human form, and after they’d nodded to each other, Amell threw the door open, her hands already generating another Cone of Cold.

With Mouse on hand to deal a little more fire and ice damage, it only took two minutes to kill the guard and dogs. Amell did feel a twinge of regret at that, but she couldn’t risk them coming to and raising the alarm. Mouse, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed, and gestured for her to follow him. “Your things are in a room upstairs. Follow me.”

Amell obligingly followed him into a room full of suits of armor and a few weapon racks, and immediately spotted the huge chest in the middle of the leftmost wall. The key Mouse had acquired slid into the lock easily, and Amell quickly grabbed her pack, rifling through it for a lyrium potion. As she located one and popped the cork, she saw Mouse considering a nearby suit of armor. “What?” she asked, before downing the potion.

“I was just thinking that you might want to wear this and try to bluff your way out of here.”

Amell raised an eyebrow at him. “Weren’t you making fun of Queen Anora for trying that just a few hours ago?”

“Firstly, I have no familiarity with her, so I didn’t know if she was capable of pulling off the deception. Secondly, she’s a queen, and probably doesn’t have much experience of combat, and thus of passing herself off as a soldier. And thirdly, based on what I’ve seen, most of the guards here are absolute morons. Just stride around purposefully and nod and grunt if someone greets you, and you should be fine.”

Amell couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “So much for my assumption that this place was staffed with Denerim’s best and brightest. All right. We’ll give it a try. If it allows us to get through at least one section of the fort without being attacked, I’ll consider that a success.”

After putting her robes and staff into her pack, Amell changed into the suit of armor, which was much heavier than her normal attire but not unbearably so. Once she’d attached everything and slung her pack over her shoulders, she looked at Mouse. “What about you? Are you joining me in this masquerade?”

Mouse shook his head. “Better to stay as a mouse so I can make a quick getaway if necessary. And while you may be somewhat accustomed to armor, it’s far too heavy for my tastes. That one suit I wore while trying to sneak through Arl Howe’s home was more than enough for me. Just stick me in that ridiculous decorative shoulderpiece, and I’ll direct you where to go.”

Amell nodded, and Mouse changed back into his mouse form, allowing her to pry part of the armor open so he could slip inside. “It’s a tight fit,” he admitted, “So let’s try to be quick.”

“I make no promises,” Amell said, as she headed for the door, “Besides, a lot of it depends on your directions, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Mouse answered, “Now give me a moment to get my bearings. I wasn’t quite so high up last time I was in this hallway.”

He poked his head out of the pauldron, head moving from left to right, then pulled it out of sight again. “Just go through the door across the way. There are some guards standing by the door at the far end who want a password, but just say ‘Rabbit’ and they’ll let you pass. That door will lead you into that room I mentioned earlier. Just keep walking in a straight line from there, and we’ll eventually be out of here.”

“You picked up a lot before you found me, didn’t you?”

“I had nothing else to do. Let’s get moving.”

Squaring her shoulders, Amell walked to the door Mouse had indicated, nodding at the men inside as she marched to the guarded door. Sure enough, the guards stepped aside once she said the word “Rabbit”, without even questioning where she was planning to go. As she continued to make her way through the fort (spotting the devices Mouse had mentioned; she wasn’t entirely sure what they were either, but she seemed to remember seeing a painting of them surrounded by soldiers, so she suspected they were weapons of some kind), the guards all gave her respectful nods, wishing her luck. Some assumed she was going out on patrol, others figured she’d been given some sort of mission, and one apparently thought she was heading to Denerim’s brothel to pass a pleasant evening. She always nodded back at them, realizing that Mouse’s assessment of them had been right. With crack troops like these, it was a wonder the city hadn’t already fallen to the darkspawn.

Less than five minutes after she’d given the password to the guards, she found herself outside. Nevertheless, she forced herself to walk at an even pace until the entrance to the fort was out of sight, not wanting to draw attention to herself. It was only when she glanced behind her and saw that the lower part of the fort was completely obscured by other buildings that she removed Mouse from the pauldron (so as not to inadvertently crush him), held him gingerly in her hands, and broke into a run. She moved in as straight a line as the streets would allow, hoping they’d eventually lead her to the marketplace, where she could get her bearings. Her lungs began to burn and the armor’s weight made her muscles ache still more, but she wasn’t about to risk being captured again.

When she finally spotted the marketplace up ahead, she leaned against a wall and took several gasping breaths, each inhale tasting almost coppery as she fought to regain her composure. Just as she could feel her heartrate starting to slow, Mouse piped up.

“You’re not going to die, are you? Because I’d really prefer those hours spent wandering around the fort trying to rescue you not to have been in vain.”

That got a laugh out of her, even if it was raspy and caused her to cough a few times. “You can’t…get rid of me…that easily,” she said between pants, “And I…refuse…to die…like this. It’s too…undignified.”

“Good. Now put me down so I can turn back into a human. Someone needs to vouch for you so you can get into Eamon’s estate. Unless you want to try changing back into your robes in public…?”

Amell shook her head and crouched down to set Mouse on the ground. He immediately ran around the corner of the nearby building, and Amell saw a brief flash of light before he returned, human once more. “Shall we, then?”

“I think so.” Amell said, taking a much steadier breath and stepping away from the wall. Mouse moved into the square, walking alongside her nonchalantly, as if he was a citizen asking a question of the city guard. They walked in silence for a minute or so while Amell finished catching her breath, and then Amell looked over at him.

“Thank you, by the way. For the rescue. I’d probably could have made it out of there myself, but you made it much easier.”

Mouse smiled. “You’re welcome. Truth be told, I almost enjoyed it.”

“And I think we might be able to use this event to our advantage,” Amell said, smiling back, “Not only can we throw the fact that we broke out of Fort Drakon in Loghain and Cauthrien’s faces, but we can use the inadequacy of the guards to weaken the people’s faith in Loghain. Plus…” she rapped her breastplate, “We’ve got a new suit of armor. If we can’t use it, I’m sure someone would be happy to buy it, and we can put the gold to something more useful.”

Mouse laughed. “You’re surprisingly wicked at times. Can I attribute that to my influence?”

“If it makes you feel more important, go ahead and think that,” Amell said, “Now come on, we need to get back to Eamon’s before our team mounts an unnecessary rescue mission.”


	11. Hard Choices

Everyone at the estate was understandably astounded when Amell showed up at the doorstep, in a suit of armor no less. She enjoyed telling them the story over dinner, and the combination of the laughter, applause, and food allowed the lingering anxiety from the experience to settle. By the time she set down her knife and fork, she was ready to continue working on the matter at hand.

The next few days were spent gaining support from other nobles, battling what turned out to be a group of slavers in order to get further evidence of Loghain’s bad behavior, and convincing a reluctant Alistair that a political marriage to Anora would give them more support in the Landsmeet. In addition to the more straightforward methods of preparation, some of her teammates took it upon themselves to find alternate ways to get people on their side. Zevran and Leliana wandered the marketplace, gossiping with the stall owners and the shoppers and subtly spreading rumors. Oghren planted himself in the tavern and did something similar in-between drinks (which admittedly made him less subtle, but his being drunk and in a bar meant nobody raised an eyebrow at this). And Mouse’s library reading centered around anything to do with Ferelden politics and social graces, in the hope of finding some obscure rule or law that could be used against Loghain. Amell wasn’t sure how helpful any of this was, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless.

The day of the Landsmeet finally came, and Amell, her entire party, and Eamon went to the royal palace to plead their case. While Amell suspected she wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, she felt she made up for it by speaking with verve and passion whenever her turn to present evidence came. Thanks to their various efforts, it seemed that most of the nobles were willing to vote to oust Loghain and put Anora and Alistair on the throne. Loghain, of course, called everyone traitors and refused to step down. Everyone in the room was tensing for a fight when a voice spoke up by Amell’s side.

“We can’t afford to waste men, not with this Blight. May I suggest invoking the option to settle disputes via a public duel?”

As the nobles started murmuring in agreement, Amell turned to look at Mouse in disbelief. “That’s an actual rule?”

“According to at least four different books, it is.” Mouse said with a shrug and a slight smile.

“If both aggrieved parties are willing to resolve the matter in this way, the Landsmeet will abide by the decision of the victor.” One of the nobles declared, “What say you?”

“A Mac Tir does not back down from such a challenge!” Loghain declared, glaring first at Eamon, then at Amell and her group, “Can a traitorous Grey Warden say the same?”

“I haven’t been backing down from challenges since I became a Grey Warden,” Amell replied, before looking around at the other nobles, “I accept.”

“Then clear a space,” the noble from before said, “And let the fighting continue until one of the combatants is unconscious, dead, or willing to surrender.”

Everyone around Amell immediately started backing away to form a fighting ring, though her teammates all whispered words of encouragement as they did so. Amell and Loghain immediately began circling each other, sizing each other up, before Loghain reached for the sword behind his back. Amell immediately seized her own staff and froze him in place with Cone of Cold. She then hit him with a series of primal spells—Stonefist to try to knock him unconscious, Flame Blast to try to cook him inside his armor, and Lightning to shock him with the melted water from her first spell. It drained her mana rapidly, but it had the desired effect. Loghain was left reeling after the assault, and Amell took a gamble. Grasping her staff in both hands, she ran up to Loghain and swung it at his legs, hitting him in the back of his knees and sending him crashing to the floor, barely catching himself with his hands. Amell took advantage of the opportunity to grab his sword, immediately pointing it at him. “I believe it would be best for you to yield, ser.”

Loghain rose into a kneeling position. “You fought more valiantly than I expected. I will yield. Do what you will with me.”

“Have him executed, then!” Alistair declared immediately, “Make him pay for what he’s done!”

It was at that moment that the Grey Warden Amell had rescued at Howe’s estate, Warden Riordan, stepped forward with an alternative solution; have Loghain join the Grey Wardens. If he didn’t survive the initiation, then the endpoint was the same. If he did, then they’d have more aid against the Archdemon, someone skilled in battle and strategy, no less. Amell was inclined to agree, which infuriated Alistair. Amell tried to persuade him to see reason.

“How is this any different from some of the others who have joined our cause? Zevran tried to kill us when he first met us. Morrigan is the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds. And we can’t forget everything surrounding Mouse.”

“I’d be hurt if you did.” Mouse said, smiling slightly.

“You were equally uncertain about them accompanying us,” Amell continued, “Yet all of them have pulled their weight and proven they value the good of Ferelden over their own personal interests. Given the things he said here in this Landsmeet, Loghain will almost certainly be the same way.”

Alistair folded his arms and glared at her. “I’ve questioned your decisions at times, but always accepted them because I could find some way to justify how they’d be helpful against the Blight. But you’re going too far this time. Either he goes, or I go.”

“What of the crown?” Eamon asked, “Your agreement with Anora?”

“I never wanted either of them!” Alistair growled, “Let her keep her throne! I wash my hands of the whole business!”

“What about the Blight? Your duty to the Wardens?”

“Apparently we don’t need to worry about the Blight if we have Loghain on our side!” Alistair spat, “And if Loghain can betray his king and country and still be allowed to live, I see no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to follow his example!”

The words stung, but months of basing her decisions on what would best allow them to stop the Blight had hardened Amell’s resolve. “Very well, Alistair. I clearly can’t stop you. But if it helps…I’m sorry. And I’ll always be glad to have you back at my side should you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Alistair responded coldly, “Not as long as _he _lives, at least. Best of luck with the Archdemon.”

With that, he stalked out of the room, and by the time Amell and the others returned to Eamon’s estate, Alistair had packed his things and left the city. Everyone did their best to assure Amell that she’d made a reasonable decision, but that didn’t stop her from quietly crying in her room that night. Losing an ally and a friend this close to the end of their fight had just opened her mind to the possibility of how much more pain and death she might have to experience before this was all over. She’d swallow the grief and soldier on for as long as she needed to, but after everything she’d been through, she thought she’d earned one night to let down her guard.

***

It had been decided that all of the armies Amell had helped gather would meet at Redcliffe to prepare for the assault on the Archdemon, so just a day after the Landsmeet, the whole party set out again. As it turned out, Loghain _did_ survive the Joining ritual, so at least Amell’s decision hadn’t completely backfired on her. She was a little worried about what would happen to the group dynamics with their former enemy in their midst, but her comrades surprised her. While Morrigan, Oghren, and especially Wynne weren’t particularly welcoming, Sten and Shale seemed more curious than anything, Leliana’s charitable nature (and love of stories) made her more inclined to talk to him, Zevran was his usual irreverent self, and Amell’s dog was quickly swayed to Loghain’s side due to Loghain being an easy mark for treats. As for Mouse, he made a few pointed comments, but he was mostly polite to Loghain, perhaps due to them having a forced recruitment and distrustful allies in common. Amell herself did what she could to get Loghain to at least respect her, especially since she needed to consider the future. Assuming they both survived the battle with the Archdemon, they’d probably have to work together to rebuild the Grey Wardens. And she suspected it would be hard to create loyalty in the troops if the two senior Wardens were at each other’s throats. Her efforts seemed to be paying off; by the time they reached Redcliffe, Loghain would greet her in the mornings with a nod that felt more friendly than curt, though she wouldn’t go so far as to say it was particularly warm. At the moment, she’d take what she could get.

Unfortunately, the Archdemon was smarter than anyone had given it credit for. It had gone to Denerim with most of its forces, but sent a large contingent to attack Redcliffe in an attempt to weaken its opposition. After a long battle to reclaim the town, Amell’s party and the heads of the various armies met in Eamon’s estate to discuss battle plans, before agreeing they’d have to send the armies on a forced march to reach Denerim before it was burned to ashes. They would, however, spend the night in Redcliffe in order to get as much rest as possible. Amell’s party was about to retire to do just that when Riordan called her and Loghain aside, citing Grey Warden business. Tired as she was, she agreed, assuming it was some sort of plan that could help make the impending battle easier.

Instead, she listened with increasing horror as Riordan admitted that the reason Grey Wardens were necessary for stopping Blights was because one of them needed to be on hand to kill the Archdemon…giving their own life in the process. There was no other way to defeat it, he said—a Grey Warden’s power thanks to the Joining was the only way to stop the Archdemon’s corruption from transferring to another darkspawn. He promised that he would try to be the one to make the killing blow, but she and Loghain would have to prepare for the worst. Loghain immediately said he would take up the sword if Riordan fell, but Amell refused. “We need to consider what happens after the Blight ends. You have military experience, know how to lead and command men, and still have a reasonable amount of good standing, especially since your daughter is to be queen. I’m a mage who’s somehow been lucky enough not to have her decisions explode in her face. Of the two of us, you’re the better choice for rebuilding Ferelden’s Grey Wardens.”

Loghain protested, but Amell held firm, and he eventually agreed, albeit reluctantly. They were allowed to return to their rooms after that, but Amell’s heart felt cold and heavy. She was prepared to make the sacrifice if it meant saving Ferelden, but that didn’t mean the prospect of death wasn’t terrifying. She stumbled to her room, barely aware of anything around her, trying to console herself that she’d had more freedom than most mages did, and that perhaps the tale of a mage who’d stopped a blight would grant other mages more respect in the future. At the moment, though, that didn’t provide a lot of comfort.

When she entered her room, she was surprised to find Morrigan there. She was even more surprised when Morrigan told her she was aware of another way to stop the Archdemon. It required dark magic and Morrigan conceiving a child with a relatively new Grey Warden (in this case, Loghain), but that way, no one would have to die. It would, however, mean that Morrigan would eventually give birth to a child that had the essence of an Old God inside it, and she stated quite clearly that she would hide the child away and raise it as she saw fit. Even though Amell had felt an almost overwhelming wave of hope when the offer had first been proposed, she forced herself to think it through. She had done much for the sake of stopping the Blight, and made some choices out of necessity that would have been looked at askance in peacetime. She’d spared the life of an assassin, a general who had betrayed his king, and a demon, all of which were well on the path to redemption. But somehow, this was a step too far. There was no telling what the consequences of this would be in the future, despite Morrigan’s assurances. In fact, given that the idea had originally come from Flemeth, a woman who had no compunction about killing in order to get her way, that made Morrigan’s words even less reassuring. So even though her heart twisted painfully, Amell gave her answer.

“I’m sorry, Morrigan. I won’t ask Loghain to do this. I can’t stop you from asking him yourself, but I suspect he will refuse.”

“Then you are both fools,” Morrigan spat, “Why not save yourselves? This way, there will be more of you on hand to rebuild the Grey Wardens and make the future of Ferelden even more secure!”

“At least until your child is grown,” Amell said, “Unless you can give me your word that your plans for the child will not harm Ferelden or the rest of the world, my answer is still no.”

“I see,” Morrigan said coldly, “Then I believe my presence here is no longer required. I shall leave you to your battle. Perhaps I may even be inclined to mourn you. But that is all you may expect of me.”

Before Amell could make any sort of protest, Morrigan had transformed into a wolf and slipped out through the door. Amell felt the weight of everything crash down on her once more, and she fell across the bed, too numb to even cry this time. She merely lay on her side, watching the shadows of the fire flicker across the wall, aware of nothing except the anxiety of everything that was to come the next day. Sleep eventually came, but it was not a very peaceful one. Then again, how could it be?


	12. The Noble Sacrifice

Amell said nothing to anyone the next morning about what Riordan or Morrigan had said. She feigned ignorance as to the reason behind Morrigan’s disappearance, allowing her party to decry Morrigan’s deceit or possible cowardice but not quite joining in herself. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the battle ahead, focusing on the small details and trying not to think too much about the final moment. Being surrounded by warriors, complete with the clank of armor and determined singing, made that slightly easier than expected.

There was only one time when a strong reminder of her impending death crashed in on her. At one point, after a particularly rousing marching song, Leliana began talking about the ballad she would write about this Blight, outlining what she would say about each of the members of Amell’s band. Welcoming the distraction, Amell listened to the descriptions, and even managed to be amused by some of the “exaggerations for dramatic effect” (as Leliana put it when questioned). But Leliana had been describing the party in the order they’d joined the fight, so just as Amell’s anxiety began to subside, Leliana began talking about Mouse, “The demon who learned to care for the cause.” Mouse seemed pleased by her descriptions of him and his heroics, though he did comment that he’d expect her to leave out his numerous illnesses. Amell, on the other hand, was abruptly reminded that Mouse was still bound to her. In a way, he was her only loose end; it would be hard for her family _not _to learn what happened to her, and while the Circle would no doubt mourn her, she would never be able to return there even if she _did _survive. But then she remembered what she’d read of the binding spell, which said that the second most common way of breaking it (other than the master deciding to let the spirit go and doing it themselves) was upon the death of the master. Since she had been planning to set Mouse free after the battle anyway, it didn’t seem that much would change. She just wouldn’t be granted the opportunity to hear Mouse’s thanks. And really, given the way he was, she wasn’t sure if she could have expected one anyway.

While that settled the matter in her mind, it did make her heart twist and the tightness in her chest return full force. Taking a drink from her water pouch to cover up her nervous swallow, she focused her eyes on the horizon and her ears on Leliana’s words, hoping it wouldn’t be much longer before Denerim came into view and the rush of adrenaline would temporarily distract her from facing the inevitable.

***

Another six hours brought the armies to the outskirts of Denerim. After a rousing speech by Queen Anora, Riordan led several contingents to fight their way to the Archdemon, while the rest of the men, elves, and dwarves did what they could to secure the city. As Amell had hoped, slicing her way through hordes of darkspawn allowed her mind to go blank to everything except fighting and survival, and while she wouldn’t say she was enjoying herself, it was a familiar scenario, and therefore easier to deal with than her looming fate.

Just as they’d cleared out the area where the marketplace had stood, a runner came with news that Riordan had fallen, but had managed to slice the Archdemon’s wing such that it could no longer fly. It had landed on the top of Fort Drakon, and thus a Grey Warden needed to get there immediately. Amell nodded grimly, and quickly selected Loghain (backup), Shale (muscle), Wynne (healing magic), and of course Mouse (since she’d always brought him along, it would be suspicious if she didn’t do so now) to come with her. Saying her goodbyes to the rest of her team, including a joking apology to Leliana for not being able to witness the Archdemon’s defeat personally, the five of them began making their way to the fort.

Thanks to Loghain’s (and to a lesser extent, Amell’s) familiarity with the fort’s layout, they were able to fight their way to the door to the roof with only moderate difficulty. While they knew time was of the essence, they took a few minutes to heal their injuries and replenish their mana or stamina. As they did so, Amell decided it was as good a time as any to make her final goodbyes.

“If the worst happens,” she began, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m grateful to have met all of you. You’ve all broadened my horizons in ways I never expected, especially after I was sent to the Circle. I hope your lives are peaceful, or at least satisfactory, when all of this is over.”

Loghain gave her a sharp look, but tempered it with an understanding nod. Wynne expressed pride in Amell and all their accomplishments. Shale merely commented that the odds were better since they had a golem on their side. But while Mouse smiled, she saw a familiar intent look in his eyes. It was the same look he’d given her at the end of her Harrowing, when she’d recognized him for what he was, or rather had been. “Before we drown in sentiments, perhaps you could help me apply a poultice to my back? One of the darkspawn archers got in a few lucky shots.”

“Of course, Mouse.” Amell said, taking the pack of herbs he gave her. But instead of turning his back for her, Mouse moved off around the corner. Suspecting there was a reason for this other than self-consciousness, she followed. Once they were in relative privacy, Mouse turned around for her to apply the poultice, and then spoke quietly.

“Are you sure you don’t want Loghain to make the final sacrifice?”

Amell blinked. “How did you…?”

“I suspected Riordan wasn’t going to give you good news, so I decided to listen in. You were too stunned by the revelation of your impending death to notice a mouse by the doorjamb.”

“I should have known,” Amell said, pressing the wet herbs against Mouse’s injuries, “But to answer your question, yes, I’m sure. If you heard the conversation, then you heard my reasoning. It’s the smart choice.”

Mouse gave an almost affectionate sigh. “Then I suppose a mere spirit won’t be able to talk you out of it.”

“You’re right. Though I’d consider you much more than just a ‘mere’ spirit at this point.”

“Very well,” Mouse said, turning to face her, “Then let me say that I am grateful for all you’ve done for me. Without you, I would either be dead or back in the Fade. I’m glad to have had these experiences…and to learn I was capable of change.”

“I’m happy to have helped,” Amell said, giving him a genuine if still strained smile, “But we need to go, before the Archdemon decides to bring its tail through the wall.” Mouse nodded, and followed her back to the group. Once everyone affirmed that they were ready, Amell took a deep breath, then pushed the doors open.

The Archdemon was huge, a mass of reddish purple spikes in the shape of a dragon with an unearthly screech and the ability to spit blue fire. It had an intimidating presence, but the sight of Shale and Loghain immediately charging forward to attack was enough to quickly shake Amell out of her stunned staring. Yanking her staff off her back, Amell set to work.

For what felt like an hour, they chipped away at the Archdemon’s hide. They had some help from their allies (the mages were particularly effective, Amell noticed with pride) and Loghain’s knowledge of how to work the ballistae placed at the corners of the roof allowed them to pound the Archdemon with heavy boulders for a time. But it was still a hard fight, made harder by the swarms of darkspawn that eventually arrived to assist their leader. However, thanks to Wynne’s healing abilities, Loghain’s familiarity with the terrain and knowledge of battle tactics, Amell’s various paralysis spells, Shale’s fists, and Mouse’s freezing powers, they held their ground.

At last, the Archdemon collapsed to the ground, its legs too weak to support it. It was still defiant, bellowing and shooting out jets of flame, but it was obvious that this was the moment to strike. Her heart pounding in her ears and her blood running cold, Amell picked up a nearby sword…

…And found herself unable to move. For a moment, she thought the Archdemon had something to do with it, but as the shock subsided, she saw the familiar pattern of a Paralysis Glyph beneath her feet. As her eyes darted around, looking for the darkspawn emissary who had cast it, the sword was removed from her hand with a sharp tug. Her eyes immediately shifted right, and then her shock returned anew.

Mouse was by her side, surrounded by the glow of his spirit form. Perhaps it was the darkened sky and the situation they were in, but the glow seemed brighter and purer than it had been the last time she’d seen it. “I’m sorry,” he said, hefting the sword experimentally, “But I think the world would be poorer for losing a mage like you rather than a spirit.”

“You heard Riordan,” Amell said, her stomach churning, “It has to be a Grey Warden. Otherwise, its essence will just jump into the closest darkspawn.”

“The legends say that the corruption that creates the Blight came from the Fade,” Mouse said, giving her a knowing smile, “And I am from the Fade. Perhaps that makes me qualified to stop the Archdemon.”

“Or it means that its essence will jump into you, and we’ll _both_ be killed. Mouse, please…”

Mouse shook his head. “The glyph lasts for two minutes. That should be enough time for me to slay the Archdemon, but not enough time for a hypothetical transformation to take full effect. I think that should make killing me a little easier, if it comes to that.”

“Don’t do this!” Amell begged, “That’s an order!”

“I’m afraid you’re not in a position to stop me,” Mouse said, “And besides, that order’s not very clear. ‘This’ could mean anything.”

Before Amell could clarify her order, Mouse pressed the fingers of his free hand lightly against her mouth. “Keep your wits about you, mage.” he said, his voice warmer and kinder than it had been the last time he’d spoken those words. Then he dashed forward to where the Archdemon was lying, looking for all the world like a falling star.

“_Mouse!_” Amell yelled after him, but it was too late; Mouse feinted when the Archdemon’s head lunged at him, and was able to crouch down and slice its throat. Then he stood up and plunged the blade into the Archdemon’s head. Immediately, a beam of white light shot into the sky, but Amell could still see Mouse, struggling to drive the sword still deeper into the Archdemon’s skull. His golden glow pulsed several times, and then began to turn black. Tears came to Amell’s eyes as she watched his body start to grow spikes of its own, twisting and contorting his shape back to that of a pride demon, or worse. His sacrifice had failed, and while she could feel the glyph dissipating around her, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop what was happening.

_But there may be one way to make this a little easier_, she thought suddenly, and as the last of her paralysis faded, she tightened her grip on her staff and cast a spell. Before she could see if it had had the desired effect, there was an explosion that knocked her backwards, and she felt a wave of energy pass over her head. She laid there stunned for a few moments, but as she came back to her senses, she heard…cheering. Pushing herself to her feet, she saw the soldiers on the tower raising their arms in triumph. A moment later, she was able to pick out some of the individual statements.

“We did it!”

“The darkspawn are retreating!”

“Thank the Maker!”

A spark of hope flickered in Amell’s chest. If the darkspawn were on the run, then perhaps that meant the Archdemon had been properly killed after all. Or perhaps the new Archdemon hadn’t yet collected itself enough to start giving orders. There was only one way to find out.

Keeping a firm grip on her staff, Amell stumbled towards the Archdemon’s corpse. While the slabs of stones surrounding the body had been heavily damaged, they were still mostly intact. She peered at the ground, waving away the smoke, and finally found what she was looking for.

Lying near the Archdemon’s wing was a jet black mouse, its body twitching slightly. Amell touched it gingerly, and could feel the power radiating off it. But it didn’t seem to be growing in size (or sprouting spikes), and the cheering around her was getting louder. Was it possible that Mouse had been right?

Even as she thought it, Mouse’s eyes snapped open. Amell braced herself, waiting to see if his being conscious would cause the darkspawn to rally. Instead, he looked up at her, then got to his feet (or paws), glancing around. She saw him tense his body several times, and then he turned his attention back to her. “What have you _done?!_” he demanded, his voice still the same as it had always been, though it did seem to be echoing slightly.

“I cast a shapeshifting spell,” Amell answered, “You’re locked into that form and unable to use your other abilities until I choose to lift it. And since you now seem to have the power of an Archdemon, that’s not going to be any time soon.”

“Minimizing the damage I can cause. Very clever. I presume you’re going to be killing me now?”

“That depends on one thing.”

“And what would that be?” Mouse said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He sounded so much like he had when he had first joined Amell’s team, and it made her heart ache. But she kept her voice steady as she answered;

“Bite your tail.”

Mouse scoffed. “What could that possibly…”

“That’s an order,” Amell said as calmly as she could, “Bite your tail, _now_.”

Mouse’s eyes widened, but he immediately grasped onto his tail with his paws and sank his teeth into it, growling in pain as he did so. “Good,” Amell said, relief washing over her, “Either the Tevinter binding magic is stronger than I thought, or your spirit energy negated the worst of the Archdemon’s power before it began to corrupt you. Either way, I’m ordering you never to issue orders, requests, or pleas to the darkspawn, be it to help you or to attack others. And you’re forbidden from trying to kill or hurt me or anyone I deem an ally. If you do somehow manage to go against these orders, I _will_ kill you.”

“Why take the risk of keeping me alive?” Mouse spat at her, “Are you hoping to harness my power? All that will accomplish is giving the Chantry more reason to…”

He broke off abruptly, and Amell tensed, wondering if it was signaling a surge of power. But then she saw his nose and whiskers quivering, and had to stop herself from laughing as his head snapped downwards. “_Rit-shh!_”

“Well then,” Amell said, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, “It seems absorbing the power of an Archdemon can’t stop you from falling ill. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was what caused it.”

Mouse glared balefully up at her, even as he sniffed and pawed at his nose. She picked him up and started to bring him to her pauldron, only for him to start clawing at her hands. “I will not suffer that indignity! Order me to do so, and I’ll find a way to rip your robes to pieces!”

“All right,” Amell said calmly, “Pack it is, then.”

With that, she carried him over to where she’d dropped her pack just before the start of the fight and shoved him into a glove, stuffing a handkerchief in there for good measure. She could hear him swearing as she closed the top of her pack, but ignored him as she slung the straps over her shoulders and moved to find her teammates. As she did so, she answered Mouse’s question inside her head.

_Maybe this is a mistake. Almost everybody would tell me so. But you shed your corruption once. Perhaps, given enough time, you can do it again. And I’ll do all I can to help with that, for as long as the tainted blood inside me will allow._

** _To be continued..._ **


End file.
